Mother

You
felt my words a threat
so claimed the talent as yours
though you never read them or
not enough of them to react to what
they were or meant. You did not want
to see me in the words. You wanted words
of praise for you. You feared the raw and ripped
and electric and apprehension in the words and
the edge of crazy and beyond and picked nits
as you nitpicked the ballet dancers on
TV, peering close, looking always
for the flaw, for the mis-move.
It took me long to know that
failure isn’t evil. Evil is
curling up and waiting
decades to officially
die.

Originally published in Requiem for David by Patrick T. Reardon (Silver Birch Press, 2017)

Patrick T. Reardon is the author of eight books, including Requiem for David, a poetry collection published in 2017 by Silver Birch Press, and Faith Stripped to Its Essence, a literary-religious commentary on Shusaku Endo’s Silence, the basis of the recent Martin Scorsese movie, published in 2016 by ACTA. Reardon worked for 32 years as a reporter with the Chicago Tribune, specializing in urban affairs, and is now writing a book about the untold story of the impact of the elevated railroad Loop on the stability and development of Chicago. His essays, book reviews and poetry have appeared frequently in American and European publications.