Poetry: I Had a Little Boat by James Miller
When we moved here in ’68,/plant workers made/GOOD MONEY
When we moved here in ’68,/plant workers made/GOOD MONEY
one era’s style vein / and bone against the matte / patina green of others; / histories collaged,
those who die in their infancy/are not assumed into heaven
Let me see/what I never thought of/as pear
Under lights & cover bands we moved, dripping rum & sweat
Dad lives in a donut shop now
In our youth we tell ourselves / that there is time for ourselves.
Our worry is woven into the sky/and grief becomes a mother.
I did promise you a sky full of stars, didn’t I?/But what I really meant was that I promise every day to try.
Misplace me lost like an airliner undersea looking up at joists, and see the windows mist.