Wet Wings

My love, You were raised with your father's ideals but by your mother's pragmatism. When talents first bud upon your hands, you clapped for joy and squished them between your palms, making room for more, but not height for growth.   My love, You spy the light on the other side with delight, for look, … Continue reading Wet Wings


You have my summers, My pre-school years, And all the baby moments Still trapped behind ears. Broad fingers giving illusions That your hands are big, Fit for holding A baby. You say I was one Once. An angel. Hands to hold an angel. But I came in to hug you Now, then, not long at … Continue reading Grandpa