I most often see my father
in a mirror, in a shadow
moving behind a door,
odd that is...he dead now
almost five years; odder yet
because I know where I left him
It’s almost like he’s under water,
breathing through a hollow reed
It’s taken me all these years
to realize I will never hear his voice
again; yet, there he will be
leaning on a rake in my back
yard, his face elongating
in Pall Mall straight smoke
He is often a train whistle, even
the tracks themselves; he is
the smell of burning leaves,
a front porch, the loneliness
of a parlor, the rustiness
of a nail in need of replacement
It is midnight and I sit in the middle
of the kitchen: a clock buzzes,
the refrigerator hums; if father
does not soon speak for himself
there will be no noise tonight;
I may yet see him shake
his fist at the night sky
Articulation
- shadowplay
- Posts: 108
- Joined: January 24th, 2014, 7:08 pm
- Location: a dream state
Re: Articulation
I love this poem, 68. How you describe that your father articulates his presence through a rusty nail. Brilliant. I think the essence of our loved ones is left behind by them, and they give us little reminders in surprising ways.
Enjoyed -- thank you!
Enjoyed -- thank you!
shadowplay
Re: Articulation
SP:
Well, my dad was kind of a rusty nail in his own right so it fit. Thanks for the comments.
68degrees
Well, my dad was kind of a rusty nail in his own right so it fit. Thanks for the comments.
68degrees
Re: Articulation
beautiful, moving tribute ....and great poetry !
If you do not change your direction
you may end up where you are heading
you may end up where you are heading
Re: Articulation
my father gone now 20 year - since he's been gone when a thought of him crosses my mind I've never been sure if it's me thinking of him or him thinking of me -
Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.
Re: Articulation
saw: Thanks
Mingo: I understand.
68degrees
Mingo: I understand.
68degrees
Who is online
Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 8 guests