Out Damned Spot

I look deep into their eyes

and the lines upon their faces

knowing they aren't here

but gracing the shadows with frowns

I remember the sudden spill

that seemed to cover the world

sitting beside the waves of lace

on a red mahogany ocean

Somewhere my grandmother still

tries to clean the stain from threads

handed to her by dear enstrustors

who well knew little boys' wild arms

It's not who puts a spot on cloth

but the ghosts who return

to dance this family love upon it

sliding through the gravy of time

Barry G. Wick