top of page
Richard Dinges, Jr.
Before Dawn
Moon’s pale face flares
across pond’s blank
mirror, a broad
silent stroke of
sparkle barely
cracked by wind’s
whispers. A cool
calm flares white
between shore’s dark
reflections. I
hear my blood pulse.
Heart beats respond
to moon’s descent
beyond sun’s slow rise.
Dad’s Lore
He always told
stories I knew
by heart. I stopped
listening to his past,
what he had done,
what he had seen,
what he was told
himself by his
father, or his
mother, or his
grandpa. Words said
by rote and echoes
heard above tires’
thrum on concrete.
I watched phone wires
lift and droop, lift
and droop, lines that
carried words I
could not hear. When
we reached the end
of the line, and
echoes faded,
I turned my gaze
to hear the silence.
bottom of page