Author Archives: Timothy P. Schilling
I join my son at his video game –
At the rat-a-tat. I don’t like it.
The kills, I don’t like it.
Care packages,
tumbling, hulking soldiers
dropping – I don’t like it. No,
I don’t like it.
But I like him.
He courts the autumnal mood
Last day
She held him, not trusting him to find the chair.
“We’re family,” she said. “Like family.
You don’t remember?”
He shook his head.
“You’ve come to our house for thirty years.”
He shrugged sorry.
“I have to go with him.”
He knew him, but not his name.
And later, after the coffee, he went.
For when he was young he could go where he liked.
But now was time for where he’d rather not go.
R.I.P. Fr. Piet van der Pol S.S.S. (D. 19 February 2017).
When you have children
When you have children your heart
leaves the safety of the rib cage.
The bones open up and the thing is out there
exposed
to torrents of bruises and dyes.
Sanctuary
Grief and drugs
Grief and drugs
sit at the table.
I’ve never had a lover
as pretty as you.
Orange Volvo
Between worlds
Tears clear dust from the eyes
Might I, if no one minds, crawl from the
rubble of this world
to speak of what you’ve done?
To note the earth below the collapse
and the sky above it, light piercing
the gloom and colors born of its shafts,
and greet the other rubble people rising,
shaking dust from their shirt,
weeping, believing
and starting again?
Utrecht Journal 