Bad Math

[Delta40]

The cuffs of my dressing gown
are grimy and worn.

Not like the toil and earth
you had on your hands.

Digging up the vegetable patch.
Baby carrots, potatoes, cauliflowers.

That time when I was an English rose
blooming under your laughing gaze.

First nestled in your lap,
then sitting on your shoulders.

Bike riding through country lanes.
Hopscotching till you came home.

No.

It's from years of dishwater.
Plate after plate after plate.

Each petal wilts and falls around me.
I can only hum stories now.

Does it matter they're a whole
octave above the truth?

After all, an empty room
will always be an empty room.

So I scrub and feel the chipped shapes.
Absorb the putrid smells.

I wonder how it is
that I actually miss you Dad.

You see each time I look back
I never put my glasses on.

If I ever was a rose
You were a really bad gardener.

[YesNo]

Nice poem. It sounds like your dad was really a good gardener to produce a rose that could write something like that. My only problem is with the title that doesn't seem to fit.

[Jerrybaldy]

Welcome back Delta!!! Was worried you had gone to the land of Hill!!!
Beautifully bitter sweet poem or in this case sweet bitter chronologically. Have I imagined it or did your poem originally end two lines earlier? It's a great line about looking back and not putting your glasses on.
WB x

JB

[Gilliatt Gurgle]

"To see life through rose colored glasses" I suppose.
Nice one Delta, I enjoyed it.

[kittypaws]

Hey Delta!!!

I just re-appeared here again....we must be on the same magic carpet!

I hope You are well.

You poem spoke lots to moi as they always do.

Lost of a (your) dad and many pleasant and then toiling thoughts ... I see your anguish in this write...but he loved you more than the gardens he planted....you were his seed of life.

I may be way off the mark, as usual for Moi; but with or without glasses You always saw him as your dad.

Best to You,

kittypaws