Friday, April 17, 2015

Prompts: Poetry tells us what cannot be said

more poems
than penned
absent oneself
a poet.
for what of
if undocumented
less with words
let them open
me,my self
If for no other
reason than
to be
~ adele

Friday, April 10, 2015

Trust & lying connection ...

Some days invoke Charlie (Papa):  
He drew very black & white lines which ultimately cost him relationships. Trust & lying were intricately entwined in his philosophy on life. Some rules he put before relationships. 

I am grateful knowing that when he died he trusted me. 

He had thought I broke his trust when we moved him from Florida to CT. He was certain that I had lied to him about some aspect of cleaning his place because he could not find a small bag of valuables after he was relocated. 
More than 5 years later he found that bag. It was a few days before he died. It included medical grade gold that was once his tooth filling. He became eager to turn these missing valuables into cash. I prioritized getting it done with him. The tooth gold yielded $70. 

I asked what he wanted to do with this windfall and he said "I want you to have it, to use it for you". Here is where my recall fails me. I probably said in a snarky tone "Sure Charlie, I will do something special, got any suggestions." I can recall driving thru town toward home but can not remember doing something special with the $70. 

Maybe it is more important that I remember what he said next "I am sorry that I thought you lied to me about carefully cleaning out the trailer, it was happening so fast." I do remember my two part response to that: Fast, that was Curt's doing. I was careful as I could be and I learned not to lie to you a very long time ago, Dad because I never wanted to lose you. I am so much like you that is impossible to do now, right." 

And he snarkily replied, 'sometime you are right.' We both smiled with the fullness of love.

Sunday, April 5, 2015

88 ~

Maybe a stretch, horizon, or illusion
My head no longer calculates without aid, the years implied, 27 btw, at this gestational arc of an idea

When she said it, I too wanted to own it. Before 
that moment 
I was busily hapless or hopelessly busy, yet inert.

This suddenly seemed infinitely better.
Ah, to what end the will.