Chris Forhan

(1959 - / Seattle, Washington)

My Almost-Daughter, My Nearly-Was Son - Poem by Chris Forhan

Those overtime nights in the ice factory, eyeing gauges, greasing gears: that's one thing. And the hours of clarinet lessons.
All that rain that blathered on the patio, leaves
lifting and twisting, a demented semaphore. I hired myself
to crack that code, kept busy not conceiving you. I peopled
the past, got safely sad about that. I hammered together
a hut in the back of my brain to crawl inside and rest
from the labor of making it. My almost-daughter, my nearly-was son,
I was frugal, I made you wait till you grew
into the idea of waiting. See? These words hurt no one.

Comments about My Almost-Daughter, My Nearly-Was Son by Chris Forhan

There is no comment submitted by members..

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Poem Submitted: Monday, March 19, 2012

[Hata Bildir]