A Love Poem

by ~Caerspen, Dec 5, 2010, 6:25:15 PM
Literature / Poetry / Family Life / Urban & Spoken Word

A Love Poem

I heard his voice cry out n the night
Asking
"Where is my wife?"

Demanding that
She was here just a few hours ago, sitting across from him
And stirring her tea.

I told him
"Papa, Nana died in June. Nana died before my surgery, before
we had to put our dog down, please remember Papa.
Papa. It's going to be okay."

But I'm not there to answer his questions
About where Monica is and
I'm not there to sit with him
In our usual silence as
The family around us talks
About politics and fantasy sports teams.

I'm not there to cry with him
Or fall asleep next to him and more than anything
I am terrified to leave for graduate school, knowing he
Might be gone when I get back.

But I am proud of the man who can still remember
Making whiskey and pouring it into used milk bottles
With his brothers.
I am proud of the man who slips me a five via handshake
The last day I see him before going back to Maine,
The man who tells me, "buy and eraser",
The man who calls me weird when I tell him I only write with pens
If I can help it.

I am proud of the man who
Won metals in WWII, who can't watch
War movies and turns the volume down when
They talk about those
Three terrible letters on the news.

I am proud of the man who
Can't hear a thing I say so instead
I hold his hand and write him poems,
Write him stories,
Write him into the lives of the family he won't be
Around to know- my children be they
Born or adopted will
Know his name like they know the sound of my voice.

This is the love poem for the man
Who loves my bad poems, the ones I never show people,
The ones I bake into my skin, behind my eyes but
Never say out loud.

This is a love poem for
John Anthony O'Malley, the
Father of my father, brother to seven siblings,
Son to Irish Americans who
Worked their way into America
And made the earth taste like their blood.

This is a love poem for the man
Who does not hear me say
I love you, but who memorized the shape of the words
And tells me he loves me too,
Tells me he is proud of me,
Tells me to write my poems, go to graduate school
And remember to say my prayers and speak to my grandmother.

This is a love poem for
The fused elbow, the fragile skin,
The wine tasting man with big glasses and scars
From skin cancer,
I love you, John Anthony O'Malley,
From your granddaughter with your ears and Monica's nose