One luminous, still, summer day,
you said it was perfect to paint the shutters.
To my delight you let me, even though mom said
only use my brothers. Well into the job,
I beamed brighter than the sun’s rays
when you said my work was outstanding.
That day, I thought I could be
a professional house painter.
A very different summer day was
imbued with my own heavy countenance.
My small shoulders drooped with the weight
of what I’d witnessed.
My opened, young eyes stung as
the early light seeped into the dew-kissed morning;
Memories played
of your raucous argument with Grandmama the night before;
I learned it would be hours more
‘til mommy and daddy would come to collect us, and,
Tears of sadness flowed because
your hero status was no longer so nosebleed high.
That day, Granddaddy, you were almost
just a man.
© 2010 Shari Lynne Smothers
Prompt: #117 Create a Hinge, by guest celebrity poet, Zachary Schomburg, at Read Write Poem. Write a missive (letter) to a departed loved one in the first part of the poem. Then write a confession unrelated to the missive.
UPDATE: Read the great contributions to this prompt at get your poem on #117.
