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Night Vom
Why should I be cross with time?
Ego took my father from me long before the grave.
I remember sun pouring down the canyon walls,
the same walls that tried to contain the echo of his rage.
I remember the flowers he wanted to walk among with me,
and the fear of bees he gave to me when I was young.
I remember the succession of apartments,
each less fine than the one before it.
I remember the last before his parents’ couch,
the water frozen in the toilet the day i helped him move in.
I remember his parents changing the locks,
The walls of their apartment unable to contain the echo of his will.
I remember sitting beside him in the night, his hands gripping the steering wheel,
as he declared there was nothing left for him here.
I remember when I was little walking with him in the creeks;
red pebbles rubies; green pebbles emeralds; white pebbles diamonds; the man beside me father.
These days the stones are just stones,
all their edges washed away,
bald,
forgotten in their bed.
Copyright ©
Jack Webster
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