perpetually spin forth the memories.
For it was such a day that he left us . . .
that boy with a golden shock of hair
and dimpled chin.
He would have raked that afternoon--
built pillowed stacks, and performed
jumping jacks inside, scooping showers of
color in the middle of our yard.
Showing off for her.
He and I would have popped the corn,
guzzled the pop,
hunkered down, and screamed in chorus
watching our team score touchdowns with
our father and son feet on the coffee table.
That Autumn day would prove to be short,
yet, so horribly long-- His boyish grin
becoming a memory in the winds of disaster--
whisking away his mother's heart,
as well as his father's soul . . .
Forever
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