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Brood X
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*by Jen McConnell*
Today a cicada flew into my neck but I didn’t kill it because I, too, am
Generation X. At seventeen years old, I looked for love but se...
10 hours ago
TopBlogs.com.ph
(A poem for my father)
He was the wall I leaned my back on
When wind was too harsh and cold
And when my young legs were prone to stumble
With hands so stable he led me through.
He molded me as his masterpiece
And handed me a bag of seeds
We stood before a bushy field
And said it was for me to yield.
The courage that flares high within
Reflects the strength my father gave.
And in this ranch now vast and crowded
Lies the railings now strong and valid.
And when I look to know who it's from
I see myself and not my dad.
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