Poems and Poetry

My Sons | A Poem by J.K. Durick

1. The Older

We build a place, a common ground for
us to use to energize the topics we need
to keep the talk going. There’s a distance
we must travel each time. It frightens me —
the distance seems greater each time.

2. The Younger

And finally,
he’s learning
to be patient:
he smiles, nods
and then offers
to help whenever
I seem confused
— quite often now
I need this.



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