poem index

poet

Dan Gerber

Printer-friendly version

by this poet

poem
My mother weeping
in the dark hallway, in the arms of a man,
not my father,
as I sat at the top of the stairs unnoticed—
my mother weeping and pleading 
for what I didn’t know and can still only imagine—
for things to be somehow other than they were,
not knowing what I would change,
for, or to, or why,
only that