I originally posted this piece about a year ago, but I was inspired to repost it thanks to Chelsea Owens’ excellent post about writing good poetry. If you have poetry in your blood, I encourage you to take a look at her post, and be inspired to create (or re-create) your own piece. Bring on the honest critiques!
He walks away from me.
I see my father in his height and stride,
Limbs all long and lean,
Bones growing exponentially daily,
The rest of him struggling mightily
To match in depth
His sudden length.
He seems a flagpole of a boy,
Straight and skyward,
Flexible yet fragile (if bent too far),
Bearing the promise of meaningful things
Yet to be unfurled in the wind.
He turns back to me for a moment.
I see my husband in the flash of his smile,
Quick to come,
As quick to fade,
Leaving behind a solemn-eyed gaze
That has always been
All his own.
“My Son,” copyright 2018, Meredith Jackson.