RWB Workshop Poem of the Week – January 2

Poem of the Week 01/02/2018

John Barrale

The Warm Coney Island Sand

I think of my father when I shovel snow.

The simple act of picking up
and throwing down

reminding me
of him,

in WW II,

tramping through

the Belgian snow.

I still mourn
the frostbitten toes

my father left

at the battle
of the Bulge

though the blackened ounces
were as lucky as rabbit’s feet

because he
came home.

=They don’t hurt, he said, reading my mind
as he wriggled the four stumps
deeper
into the warm
Coney Island
sand.

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