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Gift


Gift

  

I remember when 

I was still growing. 

When young Americans

were being killed overseas.

When my mother, who wasn’t 

much of a drinker, had had 

three glasses of wine, was behind 

the wheel of our car, and began 

chanting: “I love life, I love life, 

I love life.” As if that was the only 

rule of the road. And she could be 

as happy as she wanted. While 

gently honking the car horn.

                                                           

 Gil Hoy

 


Gil Hoy is a Best of the Net nominated Boston poet who studied poetry at Boston University through its Evergreen program. Hoy previously received a B.A. in Philosophy from BU, an M.A. in Government from Georgetown University, and a J.D. from the University of Virginia School of Law. He wrestled on BU’s wrestling team and finished in second place in the New England University Wrestling Championships his senior year. Hoy served as a Brookline, MA Selectman for 4 terms. His poetry has appeared in Tipton Poetry Journal, Chiron Review, Ariel Chart, Right Hand Pointing, Indian Periodical, Rusty Truck, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, The New Verse News, Rat's Ass Review, the penmen review and elsewhere. 


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3 Comments

  1. childhood memories are tough especially if the mom is a danger to herself and others around her, not sure what that is processed. but art can be a therapy in that direction of forgiveness.

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  2. the poem is not precise about what direction the reader should go, i was going to point at the last comment as being a bit harsh but unsure. I do agree that childhood glimpses set in an artistic framework can be a challenge.

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  3. my mother was not perfect either and i think we expect the world from mothers and are shocked when we find humans just as capable of bad behavior as the rest of us.

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