- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Mourning After Morning
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Click herededicated to smithpeter
Sadness comes with evening,
your radio jazz time,
and my hours of kid walk and talk.
"Baby, speak to him
while Momma stirs the pasta."
Her answers gave away your questions.
I'd stir and smile, then share it all,
from little girl moments
to he left me.
"He left me.
That's why I didn't call."
You sat alone in a borrowed room,
nothing left but the bathtub,
a real bath, photos,
photos in the tub.
So, it's not mornings
but evenings, our time
when I wasn't alone. There was your voice,
the pasta, me shooing childish noise.
I knew why you listened,
and why I'm sad after morning.
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copyright d. dixon
6.20.2004
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- COMMENTS
Angelineover 15 years agoI can hear the jazz and imagine his voice. He loved to talk with my kids, too. I imagine he was a marvelous father. I have moments, too, where I miss him so much it physically hurts. You captured that sadness very well by putting it in such a normal perspective: evening, dinner noises, childrens' voices and jazz and Doug in the background. :-)
LeBrozover 15 years agoThis poem has been selected for listing in Wednesday's New Poems Review.<br>
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lorencinoover 15 years agoOnce again, we are confronted with your power to relay a strongly felt sadness with dignity, with respect for your subject. Reading your poetry is everything from manic excitement to humble reflection and every new one that appears here is a fresh, edifying experience.
Safe_Betover 15 years agoYou always evoke strong emotions with your poetry. This one made me hurt. Hugs.
