Posted by on Nov 16, 2010 in Family, Personal, Poetry | 10 comments

he wore roach-stompin' cowboy boots

black and patched in skins,

out of fashion more than in,

neither

his concern,

but sometimes…

mine.

skin sandpaper

in shadows after five,

and

grizzly-sized hugs

still felt

in empty places. 

he loved mirrors, and until twilight,

they loved him back.

his voice was gravel and boss

and "I'm sorry" was rare

but "I love you" was often

which is better, anyway,

i think.

haunted by

the unspoken,

weighted and broken

but stubborn

or weary

or proud…

the way of many

but not mine.

i hope.

i pray.

sharing

blood

and legacy

sometimes

i miss him more than others.

today.