I've Had Some Times

by bru.

1.

For years your father slicked back your hair
in a likeness of his own.

When he moved out on the day you told yourself
you'd bitten your tongue for the last time,

you decided to wear your hair differently now.
Parting your hair to the side, now.

Staring in the mirror, saying,
"I look just fine, now."

On the Thursday after Labor Day,
you came to me with a question on your lips,

Asking if you should brush the hair out of your face.
By the time your inflection rose,

Wars has passed through our lives.
Children bloomed in front of our eyes,

I didn't have the heart to tell you
You'd grown up inside.

2.

I watched grass loom over the land.

And then the year we ended up in Georgia during winter in Chicago,
You said it was as if the seasons
skipped through the pages of your favorite book.
Or wore down the bottoms of your jeans.
Or added wrinkles to the corners of your great grandmother's eyes.

I watched the prairie burn.

And then the year we ended up in Chicago during winter in Georgia,
You said it was as if you had
read through all the pages in your favorite book.
Or sewed up the holes on the bottoms of your jeans.
Or told your great grandmother wrinkles add character.

I watched the world give birth to new.