I was born the third child on the third day, the third Walter in the line of familial redundancy. Not a junior, nor a numeral, and after my father’s funeral, the last Walter standing. No three-star General commanding multitudes of minions. Just a man with a penchant for poetry, be they tercets or haiku, true to the test of three.
A third birthday ushered in by the death of three, rocking my world at an early age. Holly, Valens and Richardson – mother’s sons all, taking the fall in stormy Iowa sky. I don’t remember if I cried but the music died all the same. The same year saw the first of three Walter’s perish and a cherished name was diminished by one, survived by two “sons”. Three seems to be my number, lucky or not, but it’s gotten me this far in the line of three.
The trinity guides
and provides me a purpose,
three steps onward
© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016