Finally, I have a poem for you guys. . . .

Two Years After Committing Suicide



your rooted family

planted a birch

in loving memory of you

down the lane by my mailbox.

I see the tree every day,

but other brothers and sisters

may let it dim down

until they come to visit

and are greeted by

a red kerchief

blazing like a red sun

hanging on a barren branch.

None flinch, but none outrun

the memory

of the long night of weeping,

of our trying hard to understand,

of you filling yourself

with bullets—

first, from a medicine bottle

then, from an innocent gun.

You meant no harm to us,

but now I fear

a child’s child

may one day startle us

yet again

with dying leaves,

shriveling everything.

Pat...I would like to see this after two things:

1. I would return the lines to paragraph form and read until the line felt full

2. I would then read each of those lines for "poetic" content.

One of the visiting poets believed that every line should be its own world.

Here is another attempt after following your advice. And a question came to me: do we need to hold the long skinny poems for happy and playful events? I thought I heard what you were saying about each line being full and having its own world until I did this. No, I did not quite get it until I actually did it. This may change every poem I write. Thank you!!! Pat

Two Years After You

Committed Suicide



Your rooted family

came together and planted a river birch

down the lane by my mailbox shaped

like a monument. When the wind blows,

branches tremble. As time ticks on,

dimness must have set in

for brothers and sisters. But then,

when they reappear, they are greeted

by a red kerchief blazing like a red sun

hanging on a barren branch.



None flinch, but none outrun the years

with you: we unreel those hippie days,

your hearty laugh, how you’d drink sunlight,

and we remember the way you could ripple

a conversation. And yet, we also recall

the long night of weeping

after you’d filled yourself with bullets—

first, from a medicine bottle and then,

from an innocent gun. None of us

are strangers to storms, but now

some carry fear that a child’s child

may one day startle us yet again

by leaving as you did,

shriveling everything.

Pat, I like things from both poems. I like the tree image from the first version. This version seems to stray from it a bit. I am still stuck at "rooted family." What is the significance of the adjective? I got stuck by two reds in the same line as well.

I think skinny poems are better at communicating a single subject. This topic feels better in a fuller expression.

Pat... I like the second title better... rooted really threw me as did brothers and sisters... how about delete routed and use siblings...innicent gun?... now, now, is there a guilty gun somewhere?...let what dim down?...I lose sight of the "tree" in the poem's middle... can you sharpen that image? For this subject I prefer an economy of words and images stacked, gently tied... The ending is much more powerful in the do-over... I like that.

A very difficult subject and this poem handles it with respect... cudos to the author. Dewell