Monday, December 16, 2013

things my son should know after I've died


I was young once. I dug holes
near a canal and almost drowned.

I filled notebooks with words
as carefully as a hunter loads his shotgun.

I had a father also, and I came second to an addiction.

I spent a summer swallowing seeds
and nothing ever grew in my stomach.

Every woman I kissed,
I kissed as if I loved her.

My left and right hands were rivals.

After I hit puberty, I was kicked out of my parents’ house
at least twice a year. No matter when you receive this
there was music playing now.

Your grandfather isn’t
my father. I chose to do something with my life
that I knew I could fail at.

I spent my whole life walking
and hid such colorful wings.

–Brian Trimboli
from Rattle #29


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