— From Death, Child, & Love: Poems 1980-2000

Last night while
trimming our Christmas tree
my son pointed out
how I’d not written
many poems lately
to which I replied,
“It’s true. But sometimes
life is more prose
than poetry. Do you
understand?” A
stupid question
considering what he’d
just said and what I’d tried
hopelessly to hide.

But he’d struck me dumb
as an angel
might have
on a windy evening when every
star is so bright
you wonder
if you’ll ever live
to see a sky like this

That’s when you wish
dreaming were more art
than accident
or that the faces you
so achingly love
knew just once
how whatever is
can fill a void
between immeasurable spaces.

And so I sat down
and wrote
what I’d avoided saying
for so long
I didn’t know
I could still say it
and would have stopped
but for a son’s voice
so unbelievably near
as to signal good news
that was
this once

**Photo Source: Unsplash/ “The Christmas Tree”/ Photographer: Jeswin Thomas


  1. “…But sometimes life is more prose than poetry.” How true. Yet, as you eloquently show here, sometimes poetry frees us to express what can’t be said otherwise.

    1. Thank you, Jimmy. I so value your praise and your extraordinary contributions to what we’re attempting to do. Holiday blessings.

  2. That captured that moment when, sometimes, the seen and unseen worlds dance that little dance of theirs.

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