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My post, a best, is a poem. I reached a point in my life of coming to terms with a visitor I'd rather not entertain, but would tempt it when riding my motorcycle.
turned
I’ve yet to see your face
though I’ve felt your breath on my neck
that time at pavement passing ‘neath my feet
too quick to yield myself alive
and once when heart and mind
disagreed with autonomy derived
from nature’s pure intent and form
the physician’s hypothesis to stand
and that morning I resisted looking up
away from my son’s face
drew his terminal breath
and kept it, I refused to see your face
on the evening she expired
my mother let you take her will
something she had long fought for
till resting in my arms
some words still I can’t write
as though in their spelling lives the constant I deny
the thought that spurned the thought that brought you ’bout
the fear that this is it on which I’ve turned a corner
twist the throttle open and rush the pavement past
as if distance were a savior
far enough away to stave the stare
I refuse to admit to mine
so quick I yield myself alive
and breathing deeper joy than felt before
the sun now warms my nape
since I’ve let them do the same
-e
