Tag: Family

Repeat

On By Jerry BrothertonIn Haibun, PoetryLeave a comment 
I guess every town in America has one. Heck, maybe even every town in the world. You know what I'm talking about. The cruising loop. The place every teenager goes to see, and be seen by, anyone that counts. 
Even Wakenda, Missouri with its population of 150 people had one. Of course, with its 5 streets that ran north and south and another 5 that ran east and west, (if you were generous with what qualified as a street) it was a little harder to define it as cruising the loop.
Cruising Wakenda was more suited for using one's feet or a bicycle than a car. Fortunately, since walking didn't cost more money than what I had in my pockets, for me that was never a problem. 
Wakenda, Missouri in the late 1960's and early 70's was a pretty small town with not too many places where one could "hang out". We had the drive that circled the elementary school, Womack's Garage, the grain elevators, and the alley behind the pig lot was just about the extent of it. 
But sometime, when one of my older brothers felt generous, I was invited to ride along to the big-time cruising in Carrollton. Where we drove the loop past the Dog-N-Suds, over the railroad pass, around the roller rink, up to the park, around the square and down the hill to Bruce's Burger Bar. Pretty much, the same thing, except now, I had to help pay for gas.
cavemen on dinos
from tar pit to volcano
cruisin' on Friday night

By the Tome I Got There

On By Jerry BrothertonIn Haibun, Poetry1 Comment 
It's the sad truth. Look through any family photo album and you'll find a bazillion pictures of the first born child. Their first haircut, first lost tooth, first Christmas or first time pooping in the potty chair. But with each child born, the amount of photos begin to dwindle. Until that last child almost becomes invisible. It's not our fault, they say repetition stifles imagination.
So, being the next to the youngest in my family of 15. I grew up in the shadows of my brothers and sisters. It's like my entire life was an afterthought. At family gatherings, the conversations would always center around tales of—do you remember that time—like I was suppose to know what went on fifeteen years before I was born.
I wore clothes that were not mine but leftovers from some one elses lifetime. When I looked through the family photo albums all I saw were faces of children I never knew. Even my parents were worn down shells of those frolicking thirty somethings I saw in those pictures.
from isn't that too cute
 to eh been there and done that—
first born versus last

Two Simple Graves

On By Jerry BrothertonIn Poetry, Rhyming1 Comment 
I visit them in silent repose,
their memories float on whispered breath.
Bringing the delight of days now gone,
I do not feel the sorrow of death.

Here I can still see her loving smile,
feel her spirit fill my heart again.
I see his eyes dance as laughter spills,
and tobacco stains his grizzled chin.
 
I’m with him once more in darkened woods,
as favored dogs run o’er creek and hill.
The taste of port wine upon our lips,
we’ll drink until we have had our fill.

I return to her comforting arms,
upon my brow I can feel her kiss.
I let all my troubles fade away,
to be replaced with a peaceful bliss.

They’re nothing more than two simple graves,
no different from any other.
But these two hold all the memories,
of my cherished father and mother.

Skipo

On By Jerry BrothertonIn Haibun, Poetry2 Comments 
An empty penut butter jar, a saltine cracker box, and some Orange Crush cans sit in the trash. An old worn leather recliner in the corner by the window. The wall mounted TV stuck on Gunsmoke. The wrinkle free bed covers tucked in tight. A small dog lays at the foot of the bed and looks longingly at the door. Everything in place—except you.
I'm here
you're not—
sadness

It’s Hard to Let Go

On By Jerry BrothertonIn Poetry, Rhyming5 Comments 
On Christmas day before he died,
I went home to visit my dad.
The house was full of family, 
our mood was quite somber and sad.

We drifted in and out the room,
where he lay dying in his bed.,
Each of us sharing memories,
saying the words that needed said.

Those last days perhaps the hardest,
as death became reality.
We made the promise to ourselves,
to hold on to his memories.

We were grasping for any hope,
all my brothers, sisters, and me.
We had not yet convinced ourselves,
it was time to let him be free.

Be free to hunt that long coon hunt,
that will never come to an end.
To dance his jig among his friends,
to lie beside his wife again.

Goodbye my beloved father,
in my heart you will always be.
Place a kiss on my mother’s cheek,
and tell her that it is from me.