My husband's poetry

Category: Family

  • Voices

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    When I was a child my conscience would talk in my father’s voice I didn’t recognize self-hate as my own Now I argue with the voices, take ownership and try to change 4-15-25

  • Locked knees

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    When our father died Masonic members of the Scottish Rite came and performed final rites at his viewing. They marched to and fro in their regalia, spoke sacred vows before his open casket. The next morning, before his last ride, his preacher preached a sermon. A military detail came to the gravesite, performed a twenty-one…

  • The morning chex-press

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    I remember mornings before school Eating Chex Cereal – rice, corn or wheat Milk with three teaspoons of sugar (four, if mom’s not looking) My sisters around the table Reading The Morning Chex-Press Good news only on the back of a cereal box I would construct a three flavored fort around my bowl Until mom…

  • Holes in my windshield

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    late at night I flee the living, drive along streets that make more sense than logic only to return each morning with shattered recollections of victories over nightmares and long walks with ancestors and descendants over landscapes impossible to reconstruct; late the next night I flee again 4-7-25

  • Blue

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    Blue as the feather in my father’s brown hat Blue as my daughter’s eyes Blue as the ceiling of a low country porch Blue as the sky reflected on a green pond Blue as a crab boiled in a pot Blue as a faded bruise Blue as the old man Picasso painted Blue hands wrapped…

  • Gamer suicide

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    When he first experienced a random act of kindness, it made him feel warm and when he thought he understood the concept, he tried it on others and soon it was randomness he sought and soon folks did not see him as kind and soon he became an oddity tolerated in polite company and laughed…

  • You are not born a butterfly

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    by

    cfblack
    in ,

    You are not born a butterfly …bright and shiney – floating on the wind You were born a worm …crawling in the dirt – devouring, devouring, devouring Before you craved the sky 3-10-25

  • White lace

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    Where I sit the arm on our couch is worn It is then I understand why My mother and her mother and her mother… Sat for hours in a corner chair Crocheting frilly, white, lace doilies to protect The fabric of furniture from wear And I wonder about other tedious daily chores She performed to…

  • For Barb and Kathy

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    by

    cfblack
    in , ,

    on an old green swingset, new to us, we launched ourselves so high in the sky It threatened to tip us backward in the grass we would fling ourselves towards the sun competing who could fly the furthest I used to win a lot maybe, it was because I did not fear the landing or…

  • Reading Anne Frank

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    by

    cfblack
    in , , , , ,

    I wonder what became of the family who hid Anne Frank in an upstairs room I wonder if one of my siblings or a childhood friend would have turned her family in and gloated as they were hauled away I wonder if I would have the strength of character to say, “No More” 1-29-25