Sunday, September 21, 2014

Who Are We?

A month or so ago I was alone in my Visalia home,
My wife away, assisting her father after a medical problem.

And at some point in time I found myself speeding north.
I missed my wife, just wanted to see her I guess.

When I arrived she hugged me and said,
"You didn't have to come."
My response was spontaneous
and surprised us both:

      We are Harfst's; we are Richardson's
      Neither saints nor sinners
      But we take care of our own.

English teachers (and former ones like myself) would call this "Found" poetry.  An accidental grouping of words, profound though unintentional.

But in the last few months, as I've witnessed my father-in-law's setbacks and determined come backs, I want to add a fourth, intentional line:

     We are Harfst's; We are Richardson's
     Neither saints nor sinners
     But we take care of our own
     We'll endure. 





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