William Morris Meredith Jr.

(January 9, 1919 – May 30, 2007 / New York City)

Parents - Poem by William Morris Meredith Jr.

What it must be like to be an angel
or a squirrel, we can imagine sooner.

The last time we go to bed good,
they are there, lying about darkness.

They dandle us once too often,
these friends who become our enemies.

Suddenly one day, their juniors
are as old as we yearn to be.

They get wrinkles where it is better
smooth, odd coughs, and smells.

It is grotesque how they go on
loving us, we go on loving them

The effrontery, barely imaginable,
of having caused us.And of how.

Their lives: surely
we can do better than that.

This goes on for a long time.Everything
they do is wrong, and the worst thing,

they all do it, is to die,
taking with them the last explanation,

how we came out of the wet sea
or wherever they got us from,

taking the last link
of that chain with them.

Father, mother, we cry, wrinkling,
to our uncomprehending children and grandchildren.


Comments about Parents by William Morris Meredith Jr.

  • Francis Lynch (2/13/2014 7:44:00 AM)


    The enigma of parents. Now our heels are against the wall. (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • Paul Reed (2/13/2014 4:13:00 AM)


    A deeply insightful look into the parent and child bond and how the baton is passed on (Report) Reply

  • (2/13/2013 8:55:00 AM)


    parents always leave something
    to their children non omnis moriar
    (Report) Reply

Read all 3 comments »



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Read poems about / on: angel, father, children, mother, sea, time, friend, child



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 20, 2003

Poem Edited: Thursday, January 12, 2012


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