In Vino Veritas
Last year, on the road to Pwll Ddu,
I turned the steering wheel too fast
and almost rolled the car I rented.
My mother’s ashes were in the back.
I was driving my father to the Gower
so he could scatter them on the sea,
as she had requested. “Watch what
you’re doing,” my father cried.
“You’ve knocked your mother down.”
Now, as I drink to forget her ashes
tumbling around in their plastic urn,
I call you names. Crude graffiti clings
to the wall I have built between us.
Can you forgive me? In vino veritas,
said the ancient Romans, but truth from
a bottle is a double-edged sword cutting
both striker and person struck. My love,
I sense stark darkness within you. I see
black stars exploding to flood blue skies
with their inevitable ink. Can you feel
the instant hurt behind my eyes, like I
sense yours? Here, in one of our secret
gardens, give me the pardon I never gave
my parents. Heal the harm I’ve done.
Forgive me. Break the cycle. Set us all free.
rogermoorepoet 
Qué bueno descubrir tu blog, me ha encantado, y me quedo por aquí viendo tus entradas.
Un beso.
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Te lo agradezco. Aquí escribo en inglés pero también me defiendo en español. Gracias por haberme visitado.
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¿Dónde está el aquí en ‘me quedo aquí’? Mi aquí es aquí en Canadá, en las provincias marítimas. -26C en este momento, menos o más.
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Bittersweet and painful…so much honesty.
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Thank you, Tanya. It’s pointless lying. The truth hurts and how we handle that hurt makes us who we are. I don’t have to tell you this, you of all people. Much love and many blessings. Roger.
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And to you and Clare as well, Roger, with all my heart.
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Forgive me for needing clarification… perhaps it is my stuffy head. Are you calling your love names or your father? Have you taken out your anger at your parents on your partner? And is that why there is darkness within her?
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Interesting comment: thank you. Throughout the series, Clare is you … If you substitute Clare for you in line 12, it all becomes clear. I’ll make this change later: it will certainly clarify the situation.
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No, you don’t need to change your poem for my addled brain! I kind of worked out that you must be talking to Clare…
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This is heart rending Roger.
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Thank you, Mr. Cake. It is an experience that I have relived often in my dreams. When I awake, my pillow is damp. It is good to know that hands can reach out to one, in comfort, across time and distance.
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Yes a relief indeed, life wouldn’t be bearable without such gestures.
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