when the Now is full of laughter—
but I am a hypocrite, watching
each season change approach
foreboding and fearful, casting
the darkest shadows on the walls
of my expectations. I always have.
As a kid, when home alone, my
imagination would scald my heart:
my family has had a wreck and died,
I will be an orphan adrift evil tides,
and justice will scorn my pleas—
tears fell, rational mind aghast
that my sobs would express
real grief for imagined things.
So, now. My sons—best friends
each to the other—approach a chasm
they cannot expect, and my heart
breaks for imagined loss. But,
“Why mourn?” I ask myself,
when the Now is full of laughter?
August 2019
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