Tag Archives: family

Saturday, driving to grandparents (#302)

half-awake Saturdays
driving to my grandparents’ house
my mind gives me
voices and visions of what should be
instead of us

intellectual llamas
contemplating Camus
conversations that cover
love and other lost civilizations

talk radio
heater on high
occasional glances in rear view mirror
checking on my mood

like elephants
sitting on the telephone wires
birds flying backwards
giving us the illusion of speed

poetic wanderings
safer than talking
that just leads to questions
I don’t want to answer

God’s breath
looming outside closed windows
warnings of storms only I can hear
the silence of lightning
waiting to strike

I close my eyes

they hope I’m asleep

I’m not

this is my only answer

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Posted by on February 3, 2016 in new poetry, Uncategorized


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I am the immigrant child,
the one who slipped into our family
when the borders were down.
I did not know the customs
nor speak the language–
      the shouts and insults
      and pity-me tears
      followed by stammered promises
      of change and love.
As a child
I stood in the corner
failing to adapt myself
to this other country
and hoping
not to be sent away.
They could not talk to me
except in broad gestures
of overdone emotions
so they eventually just
focused on each other
and just hoped I would find my own way.

years later,
now that I have made my life good,
they look down on me,
the immigrant,
the one who refused
to learn our native tongue.

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Posted by on January 27, 2014 in old discoveries


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My hand

four shouting sons
angry and upright
the youngest
trying to be like his brothers

alone and depressed
bent with age
watches his sons grow away from him

connects them all
wide in her love
holding father in the family
and supporting every son equally

and if the sons hurt
or need to cry
they bend down to mother
and father encircles them
and once again


Posted by on October 21, 2013 in old discoveries, springboards


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