And I’m still teaching

her mouth is open – sometimes,

she pauses and listens

to my simple mind,

then presses on.

But my life is wrung out

long overwashed,

the color nearly faded,

and for her sake,

there is much to say.

 

My father?

another story,

I’m stupid,

I stopped listening

to his prayers long ago

his symphonies who’s names

I’ve forgotten.

 

Inside that darkness

I’m covered in words,

and still passing them on.

 

14 Oct 08

Dave Barber

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