Snakespeare3
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MY FATHER’S COAT
I am sitting here
in my father’s favorite coat;
the one he wore the day
he took the gun to end it all.
The one that’s stained
with blood and tears
and smells of sweat and alcohol.
The one that I try on,
each year on Christmas day
and though it never fits,
something makes me test it anyway.
So I am sitting here
in this tattered coat
that’s become a symbol
of my private hell.
I find it rather strange
that, after all these years,
tonight the jacket fits me very well.
WAKING
I recall waking next to you
and lying, hypnotized,
silent, until the first faint embers
of morning
burst into the full glory
of newborn day.
each new ray of sun
would find its way
between the shades
to dance like fire flies
in those sleepy, soft brown eyes
as you looked up at me.
It was in those moments
I knew the world was right
and just the way that it should be.
it was also in those times
I realized what beauty was
and what it meant to me;
despite the way your sleep
had dried and crystallized
in the corner of those eyes,
or the way the pillow case
had etched its reddened lines
upon your face.
even your matted hair could not erase
the splendor that you brought
with each new day.
It was those special times
that would define
my fondest memories of love,
my sweetest taste of years of life,
as now the fading light
gives way to endless night
and ends the promise of the day.
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