New Poem-His Garden

My first poem in a long while.

He told me there,
when I was young,
how it would all end.
If he couldn’t take care
of himself, he’d take care of it
in the end.
Those words passed like silver-
word flies gnawing on vegetables in
the garden, now asking questions in the tomb.
Not just a grandad, but a role model and a friend;
hands soaked with dirt and weathered with the scars
of a labored life; a favored man who’s
words spoke little, but eyes wept stories
now lost on the floor.
It was time; the skies had whispered
and he sought release in the morning
with crimson-tears and led resonance;
he left us all behind.
My grandmother asked me,
does taking ones own life make a man strong,
or foolish?
I don’t know, but my eyes swim as I
find myself picking tomatoes in the garden
that will forever speak his name.


About Damian Rucci

D.F. Rucci is a writer, blogger, and a musician from a small town in New Jersey. View all posts by Damian Rucci

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