It’s a story

 

You say reconcilliation

Is a too way street

But look at me now.

My father built his life

On the rough timbers-

 

Beams that held that house

Heavy, harsh concrete

Formed those steps

I could fall on them

And break anytime.

 

I would travel with my father

In the summer’s heat

Rattling around in that truck

Sweating, wondering who this man

Who gripped the wheel and looked

 

At the rooster before he killed

“God forgive me” letting the axe fall

And blood scatter- my heart sank

There was no cure for that night

Not able to eat.

 

At eighteen I left the timbers

For I was useless and unlearned

Took that last course of action

Unwanted by that foundation,

Slipped away from control.

 

5 Nov 04

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