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my father and i
walk on the patio
every
weekday weekenday holiday
i admire the gardeners' care
who am i?
my father does not know
nor my mother's name
he does not remember
his long gone wife
i show him the bold roses
the light pink bush
the pristine white
and the third one
of the deep ripe cherry color
choose one
he selects
the deep dark red
my mother's favorite color
wh,
2010-may
This is paralysingly powerful. I feel at one with your father as I read the last line of your poem.
To paint such a colourful picture in so few words is a real achievement - well done. SO