Prisoners of the Storm

Art by Rob Goldstein

Self Portrait in Green

A white kitten
given to me

by the nice
old woman
who always
sat in her garden
that stank
of roses and

 That night it
stormed and
the kitten

It got on Daddy’s
nerves, he said, so
he put the kitten
on the porch
in the rain.

The next
I found it wet
and silent
where it had

fallen through a
hole in the wood.

I wrapped it
in towels

and sat with it
by a heater

and held it
while it

shivered until
it died.

What can I say
to you Daddy,
now as dead
as my kitten?

I did not give
you the honor
of a Son’s

Somehow, I kept
that storm in my

And locked you
into it

(c) Robert Goldstein 2014

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