As Close as Your Father Inside You

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

Those things we fail to meld organic in

Our lives may well come back to marrow-haunt

Us.  Since these issues have been stored within

Some exiled corner, they may come to flaunt

Their cancer-colored meanings in our brain.

If they are neutral, beige or hueless, blank,

They still are there.  They lurk, an itching a stain.

A therapist may help to find them.  Frank

They seldom are.  The fart-like ones a Freud

May resurrect from in the guts of mind

But you will never manage to avoid

Them.  If ignored they, still, may make you blind.

  The balance that you want will stray too far

    From fullness that you need, untamed in haar.

~ Phillip Whidden