The Seeds of Goodbye

Douglas Silver

I wrote his eulogy years before he died,
In a stained wooden room on the Upper West Side.
Eyes bled on moleskin but no one saw me cry
Recounting truth through chattering teeth; for warmth, I told utter lies.
How to make peace with a life of vice
When only I cared enough to suffer despise.

Blood acquaintances, bound by chains of kin,
We came together on that acid morning to
Acknowledge the remnants of sin.
What were we now but three made from one,
He found better company, we, still stunted by the sun.

Now I reach for the basis of first man;
I'll provide mine the foreground, the courage to stand.
Healing, the task of my children.
Peace, the chore of theirs.
Assurance I pass down in this dust colored affair.

Allow me time to create but one family in this insincere art form,
So my children's stanzas do not echo a voice forlorn.
Pray mine not feel their blood as bondage, red like black,
And dig a seventh foot for all I lacked.