November 27, 1981 (A Poem – Leighton Ford)

By November 27, 2017Poetry

 

This is the day our son died.

 

It’s not hard to remember.

Outside, early.

a red bird rests on the feeder.

The sky is cloudy.

A few brown leaves fall singly.

 

Wrangler my blue dog

chews on his mat until

he understands, wise friend,

and comes to sit by me, quietly

asking for nothing.

 

I allow myself to recognize again

the returning scent of pain

like a smoky candle

which has not quite gone out.

 

Leighton Ford

November 27, 2011

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