Sewing My Panel for The Names Project

Poetry Form:  French Sonnet

He sees her daily walk barefoot on the tepid sands,

Through deep dark forests shadowed by summer lit stars --

Reflecting thoughts to a son who lives far away,

And wishing one day to hold his manhood hands.

Under the autumn moonlight she tearfully stands:

The guilt she feels has left her a lifetime of scars;

Has life a way of becoming very bizarre? --

À minuit sous la lune -- she sews funeral plans:

She sits at her Singer -- patching a six by nine

Panel -- as she sips a glass of blood red wine,

And think of all the blue, blue oceans he had swam.

And in every stitch of love there was a fine line --

That this bright piece of cloth would be her final shrine

To a gay son who she had never given a damn.

March 25, 2005

Notes:

à  minuit sous la lune:  Fr. - a minute underneath the moon

(I used the French phrase to keep my syllable count-- poetic licence you know!