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Snow Is A Softening Of The Rain

In The Winter Park

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

Time Does Not Recognize Me

The Knowledge...

Some Women/Some Woman

Laughing Maid


If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

I Talk To A Machine In My Darkness

I Long For Stars

And Even Stars Die

I Am Time

Crowded Out

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

All Beings Considered


what makes a monster (sympathy for the monster)

Max on the max

why We celebrate the losers

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

The Times Have Come Back Of Great Want And Lack, This Is The New Great Depression

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

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

I Feel Fine(r)

And With Words I Let Them Go

Used to Think I Could Fix Them.

Sometimes Love Comes With Electricity

Into The Swirling Sea Of White.

Boy Restored

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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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