My husband's poetry

Category: childhood

  • childhood trauma

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    because my stuttering and speech impediment caused laughter in the classroom the fear of being laughed at is real and I never learned to dance but inside, I dance and swirl and everyone wants to be my partner 9-29-24

  • Indiana Winter Sundays on Greenbush Street

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    (09/08 – 1950’s memory poems) Under a doily covered table with a lamp, two African violets, and a half-filled ashtray; among claw-footed legs lay an out-of-round coconut, its outer husk intact, a large yellow conch shell with pink inner lips, Florida souvenirs from my aunt. Grandad said hold it to your ear, listen to the…

  • (no title)

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    Before our parents died and my brother bought their house an old flour sifter lay under the cabinet on a shelf next to a hand cranked egg beater Now they exist only in dreams of cake batter bowls waiting to be licked clean before momma demands I share 9-4-24

  • Song for Sylvia

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    (poem written to the prompt: “Radio”) 1965, late at night, tune out the static on transistor radio, sneak into the kitchen, call in song requests for the young girl in the news Sylvia Likens, look her up, she has her own Wikipedia page abused, tortured and killed by several boys and her foster mom in…

  • Twenty Floors Up, Peering Out a Window

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    08/22 In the window of my dream high above the street I see my father float by in an aquamarine 1957 Desoto. Tailfins like a shark red brake lights shining as he stops to wave. I forgot that before I knew him he had hair and friends called him Red. I wonder if somewhere in…

  • plastic beach haiku

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    06/30/24 – laughing, squealing kids front yard inflatable pool Summer plastic beach

  • ‘Where For Art Thou, Black & Decker’

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    07/13 hum of mower across the street sounds like hot summer Saturdays preparing my father’s lawn for Sunday whine of weed eater trims his fence no getting down on knees cutting by hand childhood Sunday memories may have been fonder if my hands did not have blisters …my sunburned neck reeking of Noxema

  • ‘4th of July’

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    7/6/2024 Cousin Billy lived across the backyard fence. We’d play army in the Summer, crawling through bushes and back yards our parents did not own. Both of us wanted to be Vic Marrow so we took turns in charge of our combat platoon. High school came and went. Billy went off to Vietnam, came home…

  • Fourth of July

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    Cousin Billy lived across the backyard fence. We’d play army in the Summer, crawling through bushes and back yards our parents did not own. Both of us wanted to be Vic Marrow so we took turns in charge of our combat platoon. High school came and went. Billy went off to Vietnam, came home a…

  • Holding hands

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    by

    cfblack
    in

    My first heroes were my sisters, just the three of us, before three others came They walked me to the school house door when I was only five We are knocking on eternity’s door, aging out, falling apart and I must journey home, hold their hand and walk them to the door 6/3/24