An Honest Man

It takes a certain
sadness to love your own
responses to things.
Some call this poetry,
but I’m not certain about that.
Just the other day I saw a
bay of coots on Flathead Lake
slowly swallowed by
snow falling quiet as a pulse.
The scene was so pure
I thought I might weep.
But there were others at the
window beside me, others
who might not know
what to do with a man’s tears.
I’ve found most don’t.
Oh voices say they want 
tender men but you let
tears start falling
silent as snow
and sphincters in the room
tighten like fists.
If you should doubt this,
ask an honest man.
 
 
 
 
 

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5 Comments

  1. Michele Morin on January 23, 2016 at 3:30 pm

    As mother to four sons, this makes me sad.

  2. pastordt on January 23, 2016 at 4:07 pm

    I’ll tell you a lovely small secret, John. As you get older, those tears will be far more welcome. I’m sorry they’re not now, friend, because they’re life-giving . . . for you and for others. At 73, my husband tears up frequently and I actually think there are some younger men friends who are the teensiest bit envious. Perhaps I’m projecting, but I don’t think so.

  3. susan sachs on January 23, 2016 at 4:30 pm

    This poem brought you to my mind. You are an honest man.

    I hope things are going well for you, all things considered.

    My younger sister Nancy’s husband, only 65 years old, has Alzheimers. He is the best thing that ever happened in her and she is slowly losing him. I started me thinking about your brother. Scientists are finding a link to a neurotoxin in neurodegenerative diseases like ALS and Alzheimers.

    BTW, did the bitch ever pay you?

    SLJF. Sorry, but F is for F.

  4. Roslyn Bourgeois on January 24, 2016 at 7:10 pm

    So true, so sad

    Roslyn from iphone

  5. Brandee on January 25, 2016 at 5:28 am

    Goodness, if we’re ever in the same room again, know that you can cry near me. You would be in good company, as I am a weepy mess. Krill oil helps a good bit, thank heavens. 🙂

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