Tall. Leggy. Almost all legs. Dear God.
She sang “Skip to My Lou” and “Tippecanoe”—
old songs she shouldn’t have known, but did.
She pinned my boyish heart for the
three count. See, sometimes losers win.
We both had older brothers, and both
brothers ran off to war. Only mine came home.
She called him Diddle Diddle Dumplin,
her brother John. I held her as she cried.
Still tall. Still leggy. Almost all legs.
She still sings, but not those old songs.
I’ve heard “Talks to Angels” when she
loses herself in something, sometimes me.
I watch her as she sleeps and thank God
losers win. Still, the grenade that went off
in that girl’s heart left a hole that’s never
healed, never closed. Healing. Closure.
New words. Fool’s words. We know better.
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Thank you; I didn’t realize the depth of crust on my heart. Now softened
Awwww, heart stirring!
I like it. Thank you for sharing John.
True. Thank you.
Gorgeous as always. Thanks for sharing!
love it and you keep watching and holding and making memories!
Whoa, this is a hard one, John. Living with a wound, living through it, living in it…..I don’t know. Perhaps this side of the grave it is all of the above. I do recognize two extremes in our culture: avoiding and denying pain vs defining oneself by it —- both seem futile and dehumanizing, There certainly is no shortage of material out there to read and study on the subject. But perhaps we must walk the path alone in the end. Alone with Jesus.
Beautiful, bittersweet, lovely. Your poetry is some of my favorite. Thank you!