The Three Bears

Lou FCDCute,

Funny,

Is how the exercise began.

She was reading from a book,

The Three Bears.

As I listened,

Amused,

I began to recall.

There was a day,

a time to be more precise,

when I told this story to my daughter,

Kayla,

Each and every night.

I spoke the parts,

Papa was gruff,

Mama was motherly,

and Baby was small.

Her eyes were wide,

Expectant,

Like each time

was the very first.

“Hot stuff will burn you, Daddy,”

“Porridge is like oatmeal,”

“She broke it on accident, Daddy,

That’s ok, isn’t it?”

Though I am not given

to public grief,

The tears flowed beyond my control.

Not that I attempted to control them,

That would have meant futile madness.

I make no apology,

for apparent melodrama,

I simply explain my loss,

my grief,

my pain.

L.

10/6/95

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