IN THE HEYDAYS OF HIS EYES
(taut jeans dancing)

An Anthology of Poetry about Being Young and Growing Up
 
 
Home
Table Of Contents
Authors
Acknowledgments & Links
 

AUTHORS


COACH IN EFFIGY

Jack Ridl

His daughter saw him first, hanging from the maple that hung its old arms over the house, his body a stuffed sheet, his head blooming from the rope that surrounded his neck. In the morning’s moonlight, she read their name scrawled like a scar across his chest. She remembered the way his hands held her years ago when, bloodied from a fall, she’d let the scream we all carry go to him. He seemed to take it, hold it in is own hands, then give it back to the earth. At those times, she had seen him in his own eyes. Now, in the midst of this losing season, she wants to take this swollen sheet, hold it in her arms, let the hands that made it and the fists that rose against it join, let them all stand around her as she sings the only song, as she lets the head rest, lets the heart give out.

 
 
Website Design and Hosting by Allied Computing