It has been three years
since you went away
and I am just now getting around to mourning you.
Is it a delayed reaction
or just indifference,
I guess I will never know.
I just know
this Christmas I missed you more than usual.
You grew up a poor boy
way back in a West Virginia holler
on the other side of the crick
that we would cross in the car,
in a shack with no electricity or running water
a fireplace the only heat,
a tin roof that sang in the rain,
and a porch swing,
wood worn thin by tired buttocks,
the woods and mountains your only toys
and a big feather bed
that you would gently carry me to
when my eyes could no longer
stay open to listen to grandpa’s stories.
You made something of yourself
just not what you had hoped.
I never really knew you
the things that you did and saw
or the depth of your pain and disappointment,
nor you mine,
You only knew the boy
and the man you molded me to be
not the woman I’ve become
but you gave me the courage to become her.
Mom never knew how much
we were alike
sharing the same heart.
I still pray at night
for signs of your presence,
like the two mourning doves
sitting side by side on the deck railing
you and mom together.
I will never forget
how much you cried when she died.
I guess after all these years
I am still craving your approval.
Copyright 2019 by Barbara Marie Minney. All rights reserved.