Old Shirts
I have not yet recovered from the potent
Memories of family outings.
They peal like the anniversary
Of a loved one’s departing.
On such occasions, it is the intimacy
Of other families.
That defines the negative space
of our separation.
Living in the old neighborhoods,
I am haunted by the old ghosts.
And now that your gone,
I shall wear your faults.
Like an old weather-beaten
shirt of yours;
Which warms me with everything I
Hated about you...
John Thomas Tansey 11/17/02
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem