PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I called home thinking

of both Papa and his deck of cards

and how Solitaire became a part of his life.

I used to sit beside him

my small chin jutting, curious

to learn more.



He said in every game, a wish – his wish is uttered.

I wouldn’t know of it

when at that time, I saw the world

in hoola-hoops and cotton candies.



the Solitaire of his dream, Papa had kept it

in his chest, cocooned between his fingertips,

I would learn of loss.



Mama has never come home.



a wish may have been lost

but never will my Papa’s spirits

nor my gift of cards.