Two stories, limestone, gray shutters,
next to the park.
“We almost bought that house,” my father always said
each time we drove by.
He doesn't go down that street anymore.
What could have been taunts him from the sidewalks —
two little girls and a bucket of chalk,
the sound of charcoal
spilling into the belly of a grill,
the phantom mother
pinning clothes onto a line
and smiling
into the sunlight.
Beautiful poem, Erin.
"What could have been taunts him..."
Yes, universally. It taunts all of us.
*
The form is just the right touch for the voice here. Strong imagery throughout, Erin. Enjoyed the read.
Heartbreaking, Erin, and beautifully written! "What could have been taunts him from the sidewalks.." Says so much!!! Outstanding!! ****
Erin, so beautiful and transcendent fave
Damn. fave
Beautiful throughout. The sound of charcoal surprised me, in a very good way, and a phantom in sunlight..loved this a lot.
Wonderful piece. It floats in a manner similar to that of mist throughout a cold day of rain. Very well written. I know a street such as this.
I love the indirection here. So much hurt, but you don't wear it out. A light touch; very skillful, very precise. *
What everyone else has already said. The images you create are strong, and what they reveal is powerful. *
This hurts in sepia. Nice work.
"The belly of a grill" and "the phantom mother"-- fantastic writing! Cheers!
@Mr. Yarrow - thank you! I'm so glad you like this one.
@Casey - It took every ounce of courage to post this poem. :-)
@All - Thank you for the comments and faves, as well as the points of what you thought worked in this piece. It's so valuable. Thank you!
@Sam, thank you - and good point, that I hadn't yet considered.
@Meg - merci beaucoup!!
@Mary Anne - Thank you. Just loved your piece "He Hates My Dog." The simplicity and tone painted such a vivid picture.
@James - Thank you! I appreciate that.