Cutting the onions induced more tears And I slung the paring knife into the sink, The crash ringing out like a cymbal. Moving through the wreckage I spotted a symbol - another sign - I rubbed my finger over it robotically. Reaching out, blindly, for anything clean, Another colourful teacup clattered to the floor, Three splintered shards spinning out in the impact. Three gold-bound petals pluming proudly Outlined clearly under my inquiring index Identified by each elevated aspect. I finally gathered myself into the bathroom For the reviving cold of the tap to wash Stinging sensations and recollected disasters. Three petals and three flowers: Each emblem in pieces, Each icon in flames.
Richie Valens, Buddy Holly and “The Big Bopper” J. P. Richardson Jr. all die in a plane crash today in 1959.
Don McLean called it “the day the music died.”
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Hi Jim,
Thanks for that. I wrote about this last year, too:
https://nathancocker.com/2019/02/03/feb-03/
Thanks for taking time out of your day to read my poetry. I really appreciate it.
Have a good one.
Nathan
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