The Poems At My House Poem by Timothy Gager

The poems at my House


My children are more than only words, rolled
together or random specks of dust flying
through amber light. It seemed fuzzy,
how they turned in flight to butterflies?

I wanted out of there. I’ll stay
the caterpillar, I cannot change
the way my children leaned
over paper plates, ate watermelon,

the red juice ran down their bare legs,
spat out the seeds, as if they were
dirty things rising in an arc,
as far as they could go. Each moment

held it’s sunlight on the lawn,
where my daughter ran,
thought poems were wishes
blown on dandelions,

“Be happy, ” she said,
handed me the limp stem
like a gift, or an obligation,
“Here”.