meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

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Coming Off Small

Counting The Long Days, Tilling The Greens

All Tarted Up

Don't Tread On Me.

why We celebrate the losers



Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

what makes a monster (sympathy for the monster)

I Long For Stars

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

All Beings Considered

Little Water Bug ( learning the lesson of true pain)

Hope You Enjoyed The Eclipse While It Lasted

Written For My Father Who Isn't Here To Know

And Even Stars Die

Crowded Out

I Feel Fine(r)

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

Used to Think I Could Fix Them.

Sometimes Love Comes With Electricity

Into The Swirling Sea Of White.

Max on the max

So You Do (May 10, 2010 written for June 1987)

Boy Restored

The Light Goes On In The Attic (WeAll Have Addictons)

Life's A Candle

Malla Batsick

(A Prayer of Intercession--Brief Joy)

Love A Cat

Cuba Libre

Fragile Shell Of Morning

Disappear

A Little Bit of Harlem in Your Life

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Used to Think I Could Fix Them.


Used to think I could fix her.
Change the weeping of my Mother's heart.
Mend the break in my Mother's mind.
"Can you ever forgive me," she asked.
My Mother lay like crumpled paper
on her bedroom floor.
I carried her to her bed,
gently said "rest now."
Whispered: "let all cares cease."
My sad pronouncement of peace.
I sat and watched until she
tumbled into accordion slumber.
Rest now, Mother.
I can't fix you.
Don't know if I ever will or can.
Still I prayed the prayer of
the undelivered.
It must have been bad medicine.
The cure didn't take.
It was my mistake
to believe.
Used to think I could fix him.
Behave so he'd come home for supper.
Endure when he beat me and when he didn't.
Forgave him for his blackouts.
Still, I took the blame.
It was my call,
the one that lost him everything.
Voluntary treatment didn't save him.
But soon he declared his life transformed-
with the advent of Leo Bascaglia
and the mightier power of amends.
And amends to his Mother
became the carrot of his existence...
Yes, he was going to fix it,
his past, that is.
The day before we were to leave
to see her
his Mother died.
Another prayer
for the undelivered.
I held my Father close.
Though I never knew him well,
I could never let a stranger cry.
After the funeral
he went back to the bottle.
Yes, it was my mistake to believe.
Used to think I could fix them.

Legal Copyright March 5 for this work by this author
, 2010 All Rights Reserved By this Author
Melissa A. Howells  and also legal copyright for this site
Meloo straight from her Tilt-a-World





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