There are some things that you see that are hard to talk about. You can't talk about it. You just bear witness to them.
Dad was wiped from our lives. The day after he died, every photo of him disappeared from the house. It was as if he'd never existed. Me and my brothers weren't even allowed to go to his funeral. His death was made absolute.
He had to deal all at once with the packed regrets and stifled memories of an inarticulate lifetime.
I don't want my poems to be sentimental, though I do acknowledge that sentiment is probably rather under-reported in a lot of people's feelings a lot of the time.
There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.
Your experiences are what made you what you are today. So when tragedy happens in people's lives, and things are left unsaid, it can be very unsettling. The lack of closure can linger.
My wife had a miscarriage. We have rarely talked about it. It did make me more aware of the sanctity of human life, how precious every child is.
Whether by my own volition or otherwise, I was given a year-and-a-half break after Dad passed. It was kind of like an elephant in the room, and everyone was giving me space, whether I wanted it or not.
My parents wanted me to solace them for sorrows they denied having had.
Mausoleum air and anguished pauses: If this production were a poem, it would be mostly white space.
