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Tag Archives: Dillon Tyler Urquhart
Dillon by Proxy (in the Coffee Shop) prose poem by @EvryManJac
For my son, Dillon (March 8, 1979–August 2, 2013) ©2020 by Jack A. Urquhart Yesterday in a coffee shop, in an incidence of unabashed affection, I saw a man lean to plant a kiss atop his preteen son’s head. The … Continue reading
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Tagged death and bereavement, death of a child, Dillon T. Urquhart, Dillon Tyler Urquhart, Dillon Urquhart, EvryManJac, Father's grief, Grief Loss and Bereavement, grief management, grieving processes, Jack A. Urquhart, parental grief, Prose poem, Prose Poetry
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Returns of the Day, a prose poem by @EvryManJac
©2019 by Jack A. Urquhart (for Dillon from Dad) Today is your birthday. You would’ve been forty years old. Forty! Imagine that. Sometimes I do. I imagine what you might’ve become, And how you could’ve … Continue reading
Dillon, In No Particular Order, a prose poem by @EvryManJac
©2018 by Jack A. Urquhart Here you come ‘round again it’s five years now since you took your leave and still these parceled posts arrive in the present tense mementos of you come home again … Continue reading
Two Poems, @EvryManJac: There is a Bell; Little Wonder
There is a Bell ©2018 by Jack A. Urquhart (for Dillon) There is a bell pendulous and rusting heavy in the tower of my still-beating heart Amidst the calmest hour I can hear its … Continue reading
Mixed Metaphors (prose poem)
©2016 by Jack A. Urquhart For Dillon 03.08.1979—08.02.2013 They say being alive is a concatenation of scenes, the sum of which equals a singular human performance. So it is no surprise that since … Continue reading
Say ‘Cheese’! A Birthday Letter to my Son
©2016 by Jack A. Urquhart (Dillon Tyler Urquhart 03.08.1979—08.02.2013) Dear Dillon, Today, with your birthday coming on, I tried from old photographs to summon some smile-making memories, a few happy commemoratives from all those “say ‘cheese’!” moments. But it seems … Continue reading
For All I Care, a prose poem
©2015 by Jack A. Urquhart (For Dillon) In another dream You return to me, arms outstretched, a child again asking to be held. The weight of you against my quickening heart is like … Continue reading
