I am not extremely drawn to poetry so it was a little peculiar when I was sick the other day and this poem kind of materialized out of nowhere. I was actually working on a post I have partially written when I found myself fighting the rhyming verses that kept materializing. So, this was produced instead.
ReGeneration
Perhaps I had it coming,
But I don’t remember well
Why I often wore the welts of belts
When I was small Michele.
My father’s rage often hit the roof
While my mother simply played aloof.
She’d say his name in that horrid whine
As if that would suddenly help this time.
When as a child I lie in bed
Anger and fear swirling through my head
The kind and gentle face I saw
Was the apparition of my grandpa.
While lying there I began to cry.
For the thought that he would someday die
Sent floods of salty streams to flow
To soak the core of my pillow.
I greatly envied my own mother
Having a father such as he,
And I equally resented her
For choosing mine for me.
Our fathers represented
The likes of day and night.
The gentle one had been to war;
The other learned to fight.
From the childish vision of my dad
I often thought all men were bad
Then I recalled the other man who
Showed us warmth so kind and true.
Now I’m grown and he is gone
But I am lucky he lived so long.
I’m only sad my kids didn’t see
Just why he was so special to me.
It’s quite ironic, this circle of life
For now despite my childhood strife
My once hurtful father is no more–
He’s now the grandpa my kids adore.

