By T.L. Murphy
Peace, Brother
for Glen
We have shoveled enough
silence and plowed enough wine
to know the bottom.
That dark nematode.
All I can do
is guard the door
while you shuffle your years
flip them day by day
hold each hour to your chest
rub your fingers
slowly over the minutes.
Every tick and clatter.
I can’t give you back the past.
All I have is what’s inside my skin.
It’s not enough to stop the worm
that eats your heart.
Peace, brother.
We ride alone
together
in our own sorrows.
***
About the author:
T.L. Murphy (Tim Murphy) is a carpenter, a poet and a ski bum living in Canmore, Alberta, Canada. His first published poem appeared in 1977 and he has published poetry, fiction and non-fiction in a variety of journals and anthologies since then. One of his musical poems can be heard on WF Podcast #7 and others have been posted on youtube under Tim L. Murphy. He is an active stage performer and in 2012 was an Artist In Residence at the Banff Centre for Performing Arts. In 2014 he edited and published an anthology of local writers. He currently runs a bi-weekly writing circle. He is married to sculptor, Wanda Ellerbeck.
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