Leavin Little Pieces

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  • Family

    Leavin Little Pieces

     

    They are old now

    the oldest I have ever seen them

    saying hello

    saying goodbye eight days later

    for the first time in seven years.

     

    It’s a long way through Texas

    longer than it’s ever been

    longer than it was a week ago

    but I know not as long as it will be

    till I get back to see her

    struggling in her chair to stay awake

    and talk about the nothings of her days

     

    to hear him tell his stories over and over

    and after 40 years still watch him get excited

    in recounting them.

     

    It’s a long way through Texas

    leaving my baby girl

    and her baby boy behind. 

    They’re both gonna grow so fast together

    like young ones with young ones do.

     

    It’s a long way till I get back to them.

     

    East county green fades in my rear view mirror

    and I’m leaving little pieces of myself

    in old quilt tops out in the barn

    overgrown now

    no cows to keep things tidy 

     

    in the far field

    where I caught her smiling once

    just for the sake of smiling

     

    on the back porch

    where I first heard my own yodel’s echo

     

    in a little house by the lake

    in cedar trees

    in pecan picking

    in catfishing

    in staying up late to wait for the storms

     

    in getting up early

    to milk things and feed things

     

    in persimmon puckered cow kisses

    and midnight trips to the wal-mart

     

    in two old people

    who love me the best they can

    and two young people

    who need me to make this trip again and again.  

     

    It’s a long way through Texas. 

     

    It gets longer every time I leave.

     

    June 2006





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    Toad commented on Leavin Little Pieces

    06-30-2009

    More than a poem, this is a slice of raw soul more real than most who read it will ever know don't count me in that group...cause I'm bleeding too! You tell 'em 'e! it's a long damn way thru Tejas! ~Toad

    Poetry is finer and more philosophical than history; for poetry expresses the universal, and history only the particular.

    Aristotle (384 BC-322 BC) Greek philosopher.

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