Poetry by Robbie Hess
The sun will rise again tomorrow,
but I’m thinking of my dad tonight
churning the butter of my sorrow.
He beamed a peppery amber glow,
and knew words that made broken hearts all right:
The sun will rise again tomorrow.
He taught me about the bayou willow,
and that gravy rests on the onion’s might,
churning the butter of my sorrow.
Now he is gone, and I am hollow
as an egg without a yolk or white.
The sun will rise again tomorrow.
I sprinkle his ashes in shallow
swamp water and begin to write,
churning the butter of my sorrow.
I wish we’d had more time to borrow.
My heart weeps over this forlorn fight.
The sun will rise again tomorrow,
churning the butter of my sorrow.
Robbie Hess is a Southern poet, and a recent graduate of The University of Alabama.
