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May 11, 2009 by · No comments

Dean Crawford

Photo: b1gw1ght

The first time I visit my father’s grave,
I apologize to him for not being a better son.
He apologizes to me
for not being a better father.

I have a difficult time growing up. My father tells me
who I should be or who I could be, but he isn’t
particularly interested in who I am
or what I might have to say about who I am.

Death changes all that
Death releases all that negative energy
Death opens the mind
Death levels the playing field.

My father accepts my apology, and I accept his.

Categories: Frontpage · poetry


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