Increments

A generational poem of hope

It started with fleeing.

Then chasing her husband through the kitchen with a butcher’s knife. 
Words of Emily Dickinson read aloud to a blue parakeet.

Waking from another dream of mangled bodies in Normandy's sand. 
Watercolors dancing across a clean white page.

Feeling the crunch of her nose under a hit from a frying pan. 
Scraps of fabric joined with thrumming thread.

Gathering tin cans in his wagon to cash in when father's on strike. 
Records lined up and covering every wall of the room. 

Reviving the body that gave her life but no longer wanted its own. 
Pages of make-believe worlds hungrily consumed.

Watching his father brutalized by the chemicals designed to save. 
Glasses of Brunello held aloft against Tuscan hills.

Now big belly laughs, ruddy cheeks and bright eyes. 
No traumas to balance, just tears that dry quickly with gentle kisses.

Maybe it ends with joy.

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