Heavy clouds

My father grew up in a place
where it did not rain.
I never understood this.
I never understood how people
could live peacefully
in a place where clouds
are sewn up with thick threads
and dull promises.

On a certain Saturday night
I decided to bring it up
in between dinner thank yous
and late night jokes
and my father’s father shut me up
the way you close a book
after wishing
that one particular person
hadn’t brought up
that one particular title.

I learned that
what my father had meant was
that they lived in silence,
in angry silence. 
They did not rain. They ran. 
Their pain was a suitcase
that wasn’t supposed to be opened. 
He meant hearts like time bombs,
sewn up with grandfather’s definition
of dignity.

Reviews

[Adam Adams]

You put down the port of your formative feelings in very realistically evocative & so absorbing words. You speak what you had to but in the texture of such verses. Very deep. Heartfelt. And quite straightforward.. piece of your artistic art. Keep writing!

[anne]

Thank you so much!

[I am that I am]

You have a gift with words. Many wish to hide from themselves, and find themselves hiding from the world. We cannot remain as a cloud forever, and the rain must eventually come down. Beautiful work, anne.

[anne]

Thank you so, so much for your kind words. This really means a lot to me.

[Kesha]

I am absolutely loving your way with words, oh the stories they weave and the images they provoke. I am entranced. Nicely done!

[alanwgraham]

This is a very bleak and truthful look at how the behaviours and personalities of your forebears can echo down the generations. It can be hard to escape!
Well done for a well written poem!
Alan

[anne]

Thank you so much for your words!