Too Many

There was a time
this shack was cramped
barely room to house just four
with fiddle’s song
we chased the blues
and danced upon its floor

We raised them up
on rice and beans
and tucked them in at night
filled their spirits
with buoyant dreams
groomed their wings for flight

I recall his words
my youngest son
“They say we’re just dirt poor!”
I reminded him
it’s a state of mind
and simply nothing more

Boys to men
dusty fiddle case
Ma took rest eternally
this empty shack
these empty minutes
well define my poverty

Too many days
feeding things
much wiser left to starve
I barely whittle
at this life
I’d always meant to carve

Too many weeks
when floor-boards moan
in absence of familiar feet
too many ways
this empty home
will never be replete

Too many months
in solitude
each breath I pray my last
too many years
spent expiring
chasing days of past