On Wed, 25 Jun 2025 19:22:32 +0000, Chris Wood wrote:
Sunburnt heartaches
This is the sort of heat
I remember in another life
over 300 miles
and decades away.
In foster care, I’d spent
this sort of day
outside where I’d play
with water blasters and
a cool green hose
and at the end of the day
My foster mother’s nephew and I
I forgot his name
would sit side by side
playing video games
Then, later
when I came home
and didn’t know
to what extent my father
and family had broke
my brother and I
would bike
down to the beach
getting something cool
at the marina
That was before chemicals altered
everything that made him
like they did to me
before the collapse of a marriage
we’d all seen coming
and before everything
that wore me down
like rain and wind
reshaping a skinny, straight-backed boy
into someone who’s
rough-weather, bent and worn.
I know those days
were worse, far worse
than these are, now
that’s just how
nostalgia sings
sweetened melodies
played by memories
through rose-tinting.
Who wants to watch a movie
that makes them feel hopeless?
That was an excellent poem, well-written. You've kept the natural voice
of the speaker; it's as if the reader is sitting with him over a beer,
hearing him tell the story.
It's certainly the best poem I've seen by a new writer here this year. I
hope it doesn't get buried.
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