Sketch

Each of my parents was shamed, shy, frightened
In their way, father was also quite brave,
Mother was not who lived in recesses
Of her mind to which she was not admitted

Not without resentments they were loyal
Across six decades not without regrets 
For what might have been, had been hoped, wasn’t,
Mix of pride, sticky humiliation

They were both so reticent of feeling,
Mother also of failing, I could not
Admit I felt even to me in me
As I knew neighboring predicament

Feeling, failing, deep despair of repair
Buoyancy of joy, now of them in me