I took the stuff that makes
the light fail around the edges
and causes sound to disappear,
sealed it in a package,
wrapped it with a hug,
and flew it out to the coast,
letting it go, all of it,
praying to God my tears
didn’t ruin the return address
so that he could find his way
back home.

Please, can you fix him
so that he can be what he can be,
and not the junkie he’s become?

Thank you so much for reading Fix. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain. As always, I look forward to your comments.


© 2013 by John Etheridge; all rights reserved. This poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original work found on this site, unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed under the license is: © 2013 by John Etheridge,


Filed under Poetry

10 responses to “Fix

  1. teddiespage

    So beautiful and conveyed with such heartfelt emotion ~* This piece will stay with me for awhile!

  2. Glynis

    I felt the pain…heartache and hope in this piece.

  3. Oh, how I can relate to this. Probably quite differently from you though. I had such a strong feeling when my first beloved dog died that it took me a very long time to be able to move house in case he wouldn’t know where I was. I did rationalise it eventually, but it was such a deep feeling.

  4. oh wow. this is incredible. i’m sure everyone interprets it differently, but the feelings of hoping to help a hurt loved one… too familiar. lovely

  5. A profound word, “fix”. What sense it that there is a whole lot happening here, bro. You mention in your reply to Profane Germane that in some ways it was not an easy poem to write … Some things cannot be fixed, and that’s hard stuff … thus, we release …