Mary Ann Samyn
Gorgeous, and Beautiful, too
Clear sky; stars. I’m living in my father’s city.
Everything has an end except sometimes for some things that are not
things, like love.
So much waiting. I do Sudoku and listen for the poem.
One day, an old man appears at the end of the street. Is he my father,
come back?
He looks more like my grandfather, in his fedora.
I have questions no one answers.
I drive along the lake that is only here because glaciers aren’t anymore.
Whatever lesson that is, I don’t want it.
But that’s not a decision anyone gets to make.
The balloon flower blooms for the first time this year.
I clip the spent roses so more will come.
For a good while, my father was alive.
Gorgeous, and Beautiful, too
Clear sky; stars. I’m living in my father’s city.
Everything has an end except sometimes for some things that are not
things, like love.
So much waiting. I do Sudoku and listen for the poem.
One day, an old man appears at the end of the street. Is he my father,
come back?
He looks more like my grandfather, in his fedora.
I have questions no one answers.
I drive along the lake that is only here because glaciers aren’t anymore.
Whatever lesson that is, I don’t want it.
But that’s not a decision anyone gets to make.
The balloon flower blooms for the first time this year.
I clip the spent roses so more will come.
For a good while, my father was alive.