First Person
Burden of Tears
by Jon David Metzler
May 30, 2007

It was in 1940
(or about 1940)
that Pilar De La Piedad
whispered to me softly,

"losing love
is worse than death—

in death, at least,
you're still embraced,

if only by the quiet darkness"

then turning back
from wind and wave
with the eyes of a child
and the smile of one
still dreaming, she spoke

as if from a distance

"or perhaps there exists
a loving God
and we wander home forgiven"

the day was clothed
in softness—
turquoise blue and azure

her delicate fingers
wrote sonnets
on a now-cold
cup of coffee

a gentle breeze
sighed softly,
and like a loving mother,
brushed away a strand of hair
and kissed her tear-filled eyes

it was in 1940
(or about 1940)
that I last
saw her smile

and when I close my eyes
I see her still—

on the terrace

in the sunlight

or wandering home forgiven.

About the author:
I was born in '58 in San Diego, and raised by wolves. My Mother commited suicide when I was twelve, and my alcoholic Father blamed me. Wolfish social skills (hauling down large game in snowstorms, etc.) did not serve me well, and I turned to Literature for the skills required to better interpret the larger world beyond the dark of the woods. I received an Associate Degree while mostly homeless (I had dropped out of High school in the ninth grade after failing all of my special education classes in Junior High), and I wrote this poem, and about a dozen others, while living on the streets. I've worked as a wildland fire-fighter, draftsman, as well as the typical odd jobs that hire wolf-kids. I'm currently working as a research assistant at San Diego State University, and dreaming of becoming a "back porch" blues singer and slide guitarist (even those of us with a wolfish taint can dream, can't we? Please?). At forty-eight I'm still looking for role-models, and that's why I was on this site reading Mr. Keillor's work (example: ...that's when I gave up on being cool, and started working on being pleasant). Thanks for letting me share!

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