April is a single mother of a child with a rare autoimmune condition, and a pagan. She loves knitting, Netflix, and her Bullet Journal. This blog will be a way to let off steam and de-stress. Life ain't easy and we all need an outlet. 

Prostrate

Edward is an educated man.

He molds future theologians;

he can quote St. Augustine.

Afternoon, Edward prepares his lecture notes

on the Origens of Alexandria.

Edward remembers. Once his thoughts impressed them all at Christ College.

 

Edward

knows for sure

he has a father

who did not raise him

to be this. Mom,

thin as a willow switch,

wrings her bony hands, full of nerves:

Ed, my little man,

what went wrong? Now

to do it

without them

is the key. To make it sun up to sun down

without a drop.

Edward takes after no one.

Edward is his own man.

Edward

refuses to believe, eyes

Wide, that his need

for a bottle (more now than then)

is the reason for his pain;

if only that woman

with rehab ideas

would see with his eyes.

 

Oh,

Madeleine.

That golden hair, soft and bright,

wispy curls, those

blue eyes, energetic mind!

She left when he couldn’t

keep it together;

took off with that potato wine.

 

Edward

in righteous depression. Edward

in a drafty faculty office, a martyr

unsung, for the sacrifice (of love,

of life) made to further

the minds of this world.

 

He knows he can never go home.

#trypod

Julie: As I Remember