I spend a lot of time at holidays thinking about my boys, missing and wondering about them. On Christmas Eve Doug came by hugged me, laughed, ate dinner, spent the night, then headed, next morning, to spend the day at his mom's house. August is supposed to be here but is not. You can ask his
mom why; but don't let her shift the responsibility. Jeffrey won't ever be coming back, but he is here all the time anyway. It has been a while since I've lifted a poem and posted it. This one seems appropriate.
what was going to be
They aren't spaces
with uses, such as margins or highway edges.
Lacunae are losses
in the middle of places -
drops where something
but the document is
gone - pond shaped
From ~ Kay Ryan. 1996. Elephant Rocks. Grove Press, at page 49.
Labels: My Boys, poetry