I don’t know.

He lived with mom
And dad
Before any of us
Were born

We weren’t
Supposed to know
He existed

He was an orphan
and then he died.

You just didn’t talk
about such things.

This poem and the previous entry come from this weekend. My wife and I visited with my Father-in-law while he hung out in Leavenworth, KS, while my mother-in-law and her sister took a “Girls’ Weekend” trip. The first poem, “Leavenworth,” was written after we walked around the family home from my wife’s mom’s side of the family. This piece was basically a verbatim from Lisa’s Dad’s family that struck me. Sometimes the way we tell everyday family stories has a poetry of its own.


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