Memory

We never fought much
or so I remember
and only once
did I make you cry

A lifetime together
reduced to moments
now less defined
less remembered

a kiss on the bow
of a Brooklyn bound ferry
when I was Leo, you were Kate
  long before they were to be

and our trips to the north
where we walked in Autumn;
you wore my t-shirt
nipples erect

that night in Ayer
when I was your hero;
naked while killing the dragon fly
  as you screamed in our bed, passion forgotten

Now I sit in the summer sun
a warm breeze blowing from the sea
smiling at a dragon fly
perhaps you sent to comfort me

as the dark cloud intrudes in memory
shades of the day I had to tell you;
couldn’t get through life without making you cry
  it mattered not my good intentions

for I was the one who had to tell you
the day our son died in my arms.

.

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About toritto

I was born during year four of the reign of Emperor Tiberius Claudius on the outskirts of the empire in Brooklyn. I married my high school sweetheart, the girl I took to the prom and we were together for forty years until her passing in 2004. We had four kids together and buried two together. I had a successful career in Corporate America (never got rich but made a living) and traveled the world. I am currently retired in the Tampa Bay metro area and live alone. One of my daughters is close by and one within a morning’s drive. They call their pops everyday. I try to write poetry (not very well), and about family. Occasionally I will try a historical piece relating to politics. :-)
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10 Responses to Memory

  1. beetleypete says:

    Another good one Frank. You’re on a roll mate! Feels very personal, almost an intrusion by the reader…
    Best wishes, Pete.

    Like

  2. sojourner says:

    Beautiful, Frank! Simply beautiful!

    Like

  3. sojourner says:

    Reblogged this on An Outsider's Sojourn II and commented:
    True art, like the following poem, gets us in touch with the rest of creation and our selves, who we really are. Be thankful for those who are still in touch with their heart and the magic that lies therein, the spiritual and the imagination!

    Like

  4. chicagoguy12 says:

    Perfect

    Like

  5. John Knifton says:

    A wonderful poem. I don’t think there is a test for being “a real writer”, but I’m sure you passed it a long time ago. Not everybody would think that the dragonfly is a message from the beyond, but in these circumstances, I would.

    Like

  6. sojourner says:

    No, I understand that, Frank! I know this is real, from what you have shared.

    But it was your imagination moved by your heart and mind, your “magic” and memories, that created this poem!

    Like

  7. Norman Pilon says:

    Words. Substance of love. Of sorrow. Of life. Of yesterday and tomorrow.

    Like

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