Ten Years Old

Dad has been dead for two years now
as my ten-year-old brain
struggles to understand
what death is.

I imagine I see him sometimes
on the street, walking briskly
carrying a folded newspaper,
hiding his face from us.

Why did he leave us?
Something I did?
My little brain can barely
comprehend life,
let alone death?

Dying?
What the hell is that?
He’s gone, and two years later
I still can’t understand why.

I miss his unshaven cheeks
scratching me when he hugs me,
his eyes smiling into mine.
He is gone from this world
yet his presence remains
hints of another life
another existence
beyond my
understanding.

We wear our past like too tight sweaters.
We dance at parties, smiling large and bold
while our past hangs on our shoulders
showing stains and holes cut in tears.

I try to leave the house without them
but they chase me like
crazed liquored up weasels,
snapping at my heels,
spitting my own tears back at me.

We must come to terms with our past
transform it into our future,
twisting it like red licorice
grasped in little fingers turning and turning
it straight.

Greetings!

I’ve signed up for the half marathon.Never shared my poetry before, so this will be interesting.

From my profile: I started writing when I was twelve years old on a steel underwood manual typewriter that weight as much as a Cadillac Escalade. Wrote science fiction short stories that were promptly and righteously rejected. Then life hit. Marriages, divorce, careers, whatever. Worked as a bank manager, trade photographer, full-time award winning real estate agent and finally as an Assistant Dean at a university, where I managed the financial department, and taught freshmen classes. From 2000 to 2010 wrote a popular blog filled with mostly humor. After that some of my short fiction was published and recently I published a book of humor. Just finished a 70,000 word crime novel that is making the rounds of literary agencies hoping someone will pick it up.

Poetry? I have always wrote poetry. Always for myself, as a way to connect with the universe and my deeper self. I have hundreds of poems This will be the first time I share my poetry so that will make this marathon more interesting. I wonder if I will be able to write a brand new poem every hour of the marathon. One can’t artificially create a poem out of nothingness. It must have roots in your heart or soul. I can write a short story about anything, but poems….they are different dragons.

I live in a small unknown town in Florida, USA. I am from Miami originally and lived for a time in Boise, Idaho. I am married with a daughter and four cats. I love nature, astronomy, photography coffee shops and coffee. Writing is not an option for me, but an essential component of life.

I wish everyone excitement and luck!

Dartman