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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
bob@dr-bob.orgShown: posts 1 to 5 of 5. This is the beginning of the thread.
Posted by Jai Narayan on February 14, 2005, at 19:11:55
Daughter #4
Mom
My lips painted a blood red
sucking on the butt of a Winston cigarette
leaving a red rim on the yellowed filter
these lips form a heart shape this valentines day
as I pucker to wail
my lament
when is he coming
my youthful interloper
my quixotic heart quickens
Dad
I am waiting for you to come
my wizened pale face
rests
lips like a scratch
stretch into a grimace
hands that held my children’s faces tenderly
rest weary against my bone thin broken hip
I can hear my breath catch and rattle
deep in my heart constricting fluids fill
when is she coming
my quixotic heart quiets#4 daughter
I awaken
dad is dying
tears wash my sleep aside
over the ringing the the phone
hands trembling
I touch the match to the wick
light illumines the dark chambers of your heart
I inhale
my breath catching in my constricting throat
I have thought about this day all my life
like the unwilling starlet I grace the stage
my eyelids close off all traces of the flame
I search for you
in darkness my heart palpitates
I have lost you
My quixotic heart quells
Posted by alexandra_k on February 15, 2005, at 0:14:11
In reply to Daughter #4, posted by Jai Narayan on February 14, 2005, at 19:11:55
Beautiful
Sad
My heart feels heavyYou write beautifully, Ja*
Posted by Susan47 on February 15, 2005, at 1:18:43
In reply to Re: Daughter #4 » Jai Narayan, posted by alexandra_k on February 15, 2005, at 0:14:11
Your pictures are vivid, I know nothing about poetry but I like yours.
Posted by Angela2 on March 3, 2005, at 14:28:08
In reply to Daughter #4, posted by Jai Narayan on February 14, 2005, at 19:11:55
Jai, I like your poem. I like the part about the red lips forming a heart over the cigarette. I like it all though too. What's it about?
Angela2
Posted by Jai Narayan on March 18, 2005, at 17:43:44
In reply to Re: Daughter #4 » Jai Narayan, posted by Angela2 on March 3, 2005, at 14:28:08
well I was telling a story from 3 perspectives...
my mother
my dad
and me
my dad is dying in a nursing home 1/2 a block away from
my mother who is manic (BPD rapid cycler) and waiting for her new lover (she met him in the hospital the last time she was admitted)
miles away in Vermont, I am waking to my partner telling me that my dad is dying (something I have dreaded all my life, his death)we are all longing for someone else:
I am longing for my dad
dad is longing for my mother
my mother is longing for her new lover
all this is happening around my fathers death.thanks for asking and responding to my poem.
Ja*
This is the end of the thread.
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