My son was deeply disturbed by last week’s events. I wrote a poem for him.
My
dear
Son,
I wish I could
believe in
a wish upon a
star again in the
same way I wish
I could make the
world a better place
for you
because, at only
ten, you know
dreams slip away as
easily as a fresh made
coffee people pay
four dollars for
when it falls out of
the customer’s
hands.
Dreams disperse
as a night sky
as black as a
tent when all
campers have
gone
to sleep. There
are days we want
to scream, and
wish upon a star
for a miracle to
bring your sister
back
again. I can’t
explain why some
scream and why
so many believe in
lies. You know
right,
and you know
wrong.
You are learning
to ride out the
storm while
somewhere your
sister rides a
unicorn.
ANGER
is natural in such
times, but if we’re
not
careful, a green
germ
spreads faster
than COVID
making monsters of
men and the very
zombies I use to
see on
The Walking
Dead. People scream,
and no one hears.
But,
you
will not always
see such times. One day,
as they say, the sun will
rise like it does over
the ocean on a
June dawn. All I
can
give
you is the hope
we’ll laugh again.
Corrie's Season 