April 9th, 2009

mist

April 10th was

John M. Ford's birthday.
And unlike many people on my f-list, I didn't know him. So this is in remembrance of... I don't know. What I knew, who I didn't know.

Happy birthday, Dr. Mike, and thank you. I blame you for the sonnets. This one isn't done, but I'm out of time for now.



I was the kind to pen my stories in --
stay small and risk no (glorious) mistake
He taught me that it matters what we make;
a fine-honed tale lives underneath the skin

Examples pull me harder than advice;
his army-dragons, crashing into war
upset my balance, rattled wide the door
that trapped the bits of me too big for 'nice'.

He helped me stumble out from where I hid
(would he have granted such a major debt?)
And dammit, he was right about regret --
he never knew he taught me what he did

In death, he taught me never just to say,
"I'm tired; I'll meet him on a better day."


Note: Still no wrists. This is my typing quota for the nonce. Going over quota, the 9th was the nephew's 1st birthday. He's walking! Oh the cute.