Poetry by David R. DiSarro

               Daniel Wehner CC



Home

The day-
long thirst

for quiet, kids
to bed, finally

I can imagine
amongst these artifacts

these innocuous things -
a dry toothbrush,

a ring, a handwritten
note, a drawing - 

that you are here, alive
and breathing. But then

our daughter screams, 
the Big Bird dream 

again, and she scuttles
into our room, rests 

against my chest, 
like how you would. 

She says she misses 
Mommy. I can’t explain 

why she can’t see you, 
not tonight, not again,

and she falls asleep
there, eventually, 

almost cooing, a small
silhouette of you.
​
​

David R. DiSarro is currently an Associate Professor of English at Endicott College in Beverly, MA. His work has previously appeared in Conclave: A Journal of Character, The Wilderness House Literary Review, The Hawaii Pacific Review, Shot Glass Poetry Journal, among others. David's first chapbook, I Used to Play in Bands, was published by Finishing Line Press. He currently lives on the North Shore of Massachusetts with his wife, Beth, five children, and three rambunctious dogs.

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