Gramps’ faded and worn-thin bib overalls / Handkerchief in his pocket / Farmers tan across his forehead / Baby white skin above / Worked sun …
My dad’s death five years ago began a different kind of journey. Instead of dealing with the pain in the present of our relationship, I had to learn to deal with the pain that would never have resolution. I realized I had to accept the good and the painful in our relationship, forgive what he was not able to give, and be grateful for what he did give. He gave what he could and I know he loved me. This is a tribute to my grandparents, my dad, to fathers, and to children everywhere, young and old. There is another side to painful memories and a place of acceptance and gratitude. I never was able to imagine it was possible to heal, but it is. I hope the same for all of you. Life is accepting the good and the bad in everything and everyone. I am growing and grateful for it. Thanks for reading and allowing me to share my journey through prose and poetry.
Raw red earth cut deep for a pillow soft seed bed. / I check the wake of working for a clean job. / The roaring steiger hits the corner and…
The hopes of a farmer
The day the rain comes, all the bent backs of the old and faithless become straight again. / Slack mouths with whiney sentences become rad…
The breaking of a drought
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