by Glen Martin Fitch
She laughed at me!
It must have punched her heart
when I, at four, first screamed,
"I HATE you, mom!"
I'd thought that I'd get hit,
but she stayed calm.
She knew
our private journey had to part.
At fourteen all I did
was stomp and groan.
At dad's polite suggestions
how I frowned.
I loved and needed them
yet still felt bound.
Up swelled that urge
to fend off on my own.
Once we were one
But now you're gone
And hoarding your things
will not bring you back.
My grief masks
my resentment.
Though I lack the courage
and the will
I must move on.
I hope you're smiling
as I chew my lip
and let your treasures slip
out of my grip.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."
Last updated August 23, 2011