Christmas Day down the hallway staggering like an old snow crab his drawers drooping his back and shoulders arced like an archers bow he sits morning’s, afternoon’s, evening’s with his hands folded in his lap riding the dusty trails spun from old Marty Robbins records today, Christmas Day suddenly he remembers; A window into the past opens as frightening and unbounded as the wild blue sky I make his breakfast and shave his whiskers as white as falling snow I hold his face gently, he trusts my hand, the (emblematic) hand tears of knowledge fall out of him I pat his shoulder and kiss his head It takes forever and no time at all to fall endlessly thru the Universe
Posted on: Fri, 26 Dec 2014 01:47:29 +0000
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