Our parents died at least twice,
\nthe second time when we forgot their stories,
\nor couldn’t imagine how often they craved love,
\nor felt useless, or yearned for some justice
\nin this world. In their graves, our parents’ need
\nfor us is pure, they’re lost without us.
\nTheir honeymoon in Havana does or does not
\nexist. That late August in the Catskills-
\nwe can decide to make them happy.<\/p>\n
What is the past if not unfinished work,
\nswampy, fecund, seductively revisable?
\nOne of us has spent his life developing respect
\nfor the weakness of words, the other for what
\nmust be held on to; there may be a chance for us.<\/p>\n
We try to say what happened in that first house
\nwhere we were, like most children, the only
\nneedy people on earth. We remember
\nwhat we were forbidden, who got the biggest slice.
\nOur parents, meanwhile, must have wanted something
\nback from us, We know what it is, don’t we?
\nWe’ve been alive long enough.<\/p>\n
Stephen Dunn<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Our parents died at least twice, the second time when we forgot their stories, or couldn’t imagine how often they craved love, or felt useless, or yearned for some justice in this world. In their graves, our parents’ need for … Continue reading