V  P  R

Contemporary Poetry and Poetics




Writing it down years later has to be
enough, even though something is wanting,
something reaching from the memory of need
and affection.  I see my father tromping
through the thick foliage or standing amongst
the trees, with the forest floor woven year
after year below our feet.  I see us come
together with what I held inside (near

enough to understand that I still hold it
in some odd way, rewound and protected).
And I think he sees the same child, or at least
for a moment before he realizes
this is "now" and that what we expected
has changed÷for as far as we can reach.

© by Barry Ballard


Contributor's note
Next page
Table of contents
VPR home page