Letters To Mother, September Poem by James Daniel Gabriel

I may have spoken hastily at our last meeting, but I left those harsh words at the table to die. Instead, all is spoiled and it all burns the oil, the groceries, the bridges and inside the minds. I did not ask for any help in letting things get carried away in the morning, so I will not ask for postmen to carry my letter. If not for, or in, the man I am, at least admire the character.

For one so invincible, such a staple and provider she gets insecure at the hiss of a spider. Along came her son as he sat down beside her, she wept at herself for his thoughts that divide her. In all that she’s raised and in all that he’s been, she sees her reflection in his blue eyes again. In nothing she gave him and all that he’s known she hates such a seed and the way that it’s grown.

She calls him a sponge and she tells him to leave her. She thinks he’s dependent and that he don’t believe her. No longer a boy, not enough of a man either. She’s rooting against him with all that she can water. The days have grown shorter and so have the tempers. Earlier comes the colder gray days of September. In nothing she planted, did the seasons surrender. A perennial’s childhood relived and remembered.

And now, comes the harvest of all that we
Put down, into the ground
To become what
Ever we thought it would be.

And then goes, another shedding of leaves
Down, into the sound
Of the path that
We have now under our feet.

All along…

I’d like to assure you, I didn’t consult anyone. My spouse and myself do not spend time questioning everyone. This isn’t a war and there isn’t another one, Its all just the same as the passing of other ones. I won’t ask for concern or even forgiveness. I knew what I was before surrendering to vengeance. I will not point fingers at the gain of pretentious Expected replies or some form of exodus.

I hope that in time we can all grow together. In sun or in shade but in all types of weather. I pray that the seasons will bring some forever to the thoughtless remarks that we carve into letters. I guess that I’m leaving, a part of me questions, Any man can be Satan but only one man was Jesus? I’ll carry this cross like I carried my thesis, one set of footprints in one earth beneath us.

And now, comes the reaping of all that we
Sewed down, so down
Into the world, what
Ever we saw it to be.

And now, goes, another passing of trees
Down, into the falling
Of all the shadows
We have grown into the seeds.

And on…
I