Poem by Jack Powers


Room 213


climbing out of the wreckage
of my own existence
I found my yellowed birth certificate
Father, truck driver, mother, housewife
world in general at war,
potatoes 5 cents a pound,
The hospital was the theatre
and at 4:07 a.m. I soloed
center stage
for the last time,
went home to bump into older brothers
in narrow corridors, at bassinet edge,
But I got to embrace that Mt. Fuji beauty
of my mother’s any or all of the time
for a while, until Danny needed, then Tommy wanted –
other attentions equally merited
                        equally merited
I was born to love her,
And she already loved others,
And would, in her sweet hot scent, love more
                                                   love more
Clinging to her, and then,
Just her robe
Robbed of singular affection
Spun into uncertainty
Emotional purpose shattered
in the meting out, measured response
Oh, she loved me, we
A good mother to us all
I guess,
what do I know
One of the planets dutifully orbiting the sun
sunrise, sunfall, sunrise, sunfall, sunfall
I fell.


Photography © Juliet Stone

Photography © Juliet Stone


Jack Powers (1937-2010) founded Stone Soup Poetry on May 1, 1973.


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