Hugh Anderson

Grandson at one

Still, the words pile up, unuttered; the world trips on, only slightly aware the sun will swallow it 5 billion years from now.  The dawn will come in the east every one of those days, sunsets will flare in all but the most occluded evenings.  I will not be there.

You smile, busy with discovering, right now the sounds of a toy screwdriver struck against china, a moment ago, the squeak of a foam block against your teeth.  You will notice the sun rising one day.

 You will have your own evening.  I will not be there

 You burn with wonder and delight; you pull me laughing from my shaded age.  You circumnavigate the room on pattering feet and I follow the orbit of your laughter.  I could easily always walk this way with you, but I have my own sunset to attend.

Hugh Anderson is a Vancouver Islander. Sometimes an actor, sometimes a teacher, once even a bus driver, but always a poet, his poems have appeared most recently in 3 Elements Review, Praxis Magazine Online, Grain, Vallum  and Right Hand Pointing.  He has one Pushcart Prize nomination.