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The Search For Closure
On a faded roll-a-way
she sits,
eyes ever moving,
roaming the room, searching blank walls,
blinking.
I speak
to enter her space.
After regaining a small trace of nerve
the situation begins to ease.
Proportionately,
she eventually begins to settle.
"You are truly my grandson?" she asks.
I nod,
recollecting how I'd found her.
Time wistfully wastes away,
our eyes locked.
Searching with lust,
my wandering father found my mother to fulfill his desires.
If he were here,
would he weep to see us in this rest home?
Strangers.....
I do pray the truth's discernable when she speaks.
WOW... you have captured this in such a heart tugging way.... too bad that there are those out there that have to live with something like this.... I really think this my favorite of all your work... wonderfully moving piece of artistic sewing together words.... to make the reader join you in the time this is happening.... Renee'
this is a sweet little piece......invokes wistfullness....I really enjoyed it!
This poem hits a cord for me for I relate to the boy in the poem in a sense that, although I unfortuantly know my father, he was never, ever a father to me. Beautiful piece of work, it touched me very deeply.
Hello, Eric. This is a great piece of writing. Poet's and artists often have overcome or gone through painful things and experiences, it often is those very things that provide the beginnings..the inspiration to release such trauma to begin with. Had the trauma not occured, there is no reason to write, right? So, although this son does not know his father, his father, in a sense has still provided his son with a gift: the inspiration to write, an expression that helps deal with painful thoughts and memories...or non-memories. Very sorry if this boy is you, Eric. My Mother left when I was nine, so I know the pain. Again, great poem.Keep writing your ails~
This is a professional format and well crafted. You must be a teacher or something of that nature. Excellent writing!!