This used to be the place
you would take me when
life seemed small
Life always seemed better
with you in it, you were an
angel who filled the earth
I was no angel; there were plenty
of sullen moments, but your memory
slides them aside, replaces them
with golden orb images of me
When I dream of you, I always
dream of you as an infant,
you are never a grown man
Yet here I am an adult figure
stretching his legs, a splash of gray
here and there, yet you do not see me
I see you, but that is the miracle
and virtue of my memory;
it floods with forgiveness, looks
past reason, and is resolute.
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JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. His writing has appeared in a number of journal publications, including Eye On Life Magazine, The Commonline Journal, and The Literary Yard.
