Alone

Tonight at dVerse, our hostess, Victoria Slotto, invites us to write something with voice, passion–something about which we are motivated, inspired, excited, or outraged. This one is not really up to those standards, but it is about an event that held deep feeling for me at that time of my childhood. And I think it does ring with my voice, such as it is (that is, I think it’s typical of the kind of stuff I usually write!). Come share with us!

Alone

That blazing afternoon

when I chased an ill-thrown ball

into the front yard, and saw

your shoes beside our car’s

open door, your upturned

purse, and you were nowhere,

and what can you expect

from a boy weaned on

Armageddon and the Imminent

Return of Almighty Christ?

In the twinkling of an eye,

we were told, and the blood

rushed to my hair-tips, and I looked

for you, would not be comforted.

And later, you came home and told us

how you saw little Randy

running across the street, careless,

and the black low-slung sports car

screeching, flinging him into the air,

and before he came tumbling down

you had dropped your purse, run out

of your shoes, and he would be

all right, just a few broken bones,

but I thought you were gone

to be with Jesus, one taken

and the other one left,

and never again have I felt

so alone.