wish i could
find the words
the feelings
ta' deal with
the healings
'ta come.
my Dad's dying.
days
weeks
maybe, months
my Dad's dying.
He's never known
my Words.
My Poetry.
My Thoughts.
my Dad's never Known
My Ought's.
my Dad's dying.
He's never KNown
Me.
but,
My Dad's Die-ing.
ain't know Why'in.
ain"t no sighin'.
ain't No Cryin'.
Dad,
There Is
"Good-Bye-in'"
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Reviews of "my dad's dyin'"
Reviewed by David Leigh (Reader)
Reviewed on December 16, 2002
Steve, you must remember the good things that you shared together because that is who he is, that's who you are. Talk to your father about those times no matter how trivial they may seem. Write about them too.I think it's good that you had the courage to write this poem.
I met Jerome on a busy city street in Baltimore, Maryland, when he was forty-five years old. On that particular day, I was out and about, enjoying a much-needed day off from work.
I wanted to purchase a sukiyaki sub. I parked my car in an area of
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