When your parents die

the movie ends.

Now you’re not playing a part.


You can sit back in your chair,

the one with your name on it,

and watch the action played back.


See the part you played.

Sit uncomfortable beside others,

self-conscious as your playing is reviewed.


And the silence closes in about you

as you see your failings

and the quiet of those around falls away

into the distance,

and your life and the stuff that is you

comes into focus.


A real tearjerker is this.

Who wrote this script?

How could, who would, did I?


They were just people.


Life’s timeline compresses.

Your streaming curve cuts across theirs

And streams away to curve back.


You with your guns firing.

Your stupid guns.

We should have talked more.


Because now I don’t see you

By way of a mirror.

Now I can look straight at you.


And I have to hang my head

So what am I really?

Now I’m in the mirror.


You stayed for a while.

I felt you and I heard your thoughts.

Now it’s quieter.


But one day I may

Have to have that talk.

About how we all made mistakes.


Mine feel so much greater

And I wonder where I’ll sit

Between you and my sons.





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