Skip to content

Categories:

“It Is Not the Fact That I Will Die That I Mind”

but that no one will love as I did
the oak tree out my boyhood window,
the mother who set herself
so stubbornly against life,
the sister with her serious frown
and her wish for someone at her side,
the father with his dreamy gaze
and his left hand idly buried
in the fur of his dog.
And the dog herself,
that mournful look and huge appetite,
her need for absolute stillness
in the presence of a bird.
I know how each of them looks
when asleep. And I know how it feels
to fall asleep among them.
No one knows that but me,
No one knows how to love the way I do.

Posted in Moore, Jim, Poetry.

By chris
10/15/2005

2 Responses

Stay in touch with the conversation, subscribe to the RSS feed for comments on this post.

  1. vishal shah said
    on 11/4/2005

    hi,
    i dont seem to understand the poem completely but has an amusing appeal. if someone could describe it more i would really appreciate

  2. Ron said
    on 11/9/2005

    I like your poem and can identify with the sentiment. I had a similar boyhood. Eventually though I undertood that it was time for me to leave the nest without giving up my love for them. It was a matter of they and I could not get on with our seperate destinies in that environment. That is why your father has that “dreamy gaze”. He has lost the way and it is only the dog who is his friend. Not that he should permanently leave the nest like you are able to, but he needs to take a break from it to find his destiny. We are all in comfort zones, but is it good for us……

Some HTML is OK

(required)

(required, but never shared)

or, reply to this post via trackback.