10/4/2022 Poetry By Susan Vespoli Andrew Seaman CC
Letter to My Son’s Too Short Life Dear broken lifeline in a handprint pressed into the clay when you were six. Dear picky eater, apple juice in a sippy cup. Teddy bear tag worn thin by fingers fondling the silk. Dear early talker, messy room with a TV flickering in the corner so you could sleep. Dear crying while fishing with your dad, thinking you were going to keep the trout as a pet, flat dead glassy-eyed corpse pulled from the lake. Dear brilliant square peg in a round hole, rescuer of a pigeon you named Parchesi, low slung jeans and boxer shorts, fear of driving, lost books and papers crumpled at the bottom of your backpack. Dear culinary school, clove of garlic baked in a potato, vanilla frosted triple-layer cake topped with strawberries cut into rosebuds. Dear red eyes and munchies. Backpain and an oxy prescription. Finding your own brand of recovery on the street. Gifting water bottles, prayers. Bible in a Ziplock. Dear street minister, methadone clinic, policeman’s gun. Dear short life. Dear grief. Flickering sequin at the end of a cigarette, tip of a joint. Ignited into fire when held in your lips, drawn into your lungs with your breath, released. Susan Vespoli writes from Phoenix, AZ, where she believes in the power of poetry to heal. Her work has been published in spots such as Anti-Heroin Chic, Rattle, and New Verse News. She is the author of two books, one of them, Blame It on the Serpent, is about addiction in her family, and all profits are donated to 12-Step Groups. Comments are closed.
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