DELORES GAUNTLETT
…instead, he poured his silence
out into the moonlit dark
to a world framed within itself
as if there was nothing
in it to teach,
a world—decades deep in silence.
He raced outdoors night after night
under the command of a midnight moon.
Kids deep in sleep
or supposed to be,
but I could hear him clear his throat
as if not to surprise himself
when he turned the corner
to the backyard garden.
Struggling with whatever digging tool
he could sharpen to quell the haunting
march still pounding the road
of the shell-shocked aftermath
through which the mind gave way
to whatever drove him outdoors at nights
knee-deep in Guinea grass—
the earth hard on his heels.
Thank you for this poem. I can’t imagine what your father went through, and what you went through as his child.
Thanks, Dale. Appreciate your comment re my poem on PREE.
Please forgive if you receive this reply twice. I am also learning how to navigate this area of the website. The price I pay for being a nonuser of social media, which would have been my learning screen.
Cheers,
Delores.