My father died on Feb. 24th – He is missed and his passing is still fresh – but I have begun to try and write once again –
A Final Birthday Gift
(for my dearest father who would have been 92 yesterday)
I stare out of the early spring window
of my heart
to see the last few leaves
on the walnut tree
cling as a testament
to the harsh winter,
brittle
dark:
a shadow
to the new fire red blooms
daily
burning their
desire of life
toward the sky –
and so it is
for you and I :
you have reached
your final spring,
and left me staring
from my heart
at the sudden
and cleansing rain
in this waking city,
where the cherry blossoms
and dogwood create
carpets I dare not tread,
and the daffodils
sing in the afternoon
breeze,
crocuses purple
and pink sprout
under the winters
dried weeds and withered grass…
I am a child of early spring,
like you –
we are soft
in the moist new earth,
but harsh on the land –
you have to dig deep
to see the beauty
we sing in our
weary winter hearts,
but there you
will be blinded
by our crimson light,
our deep felt words
and ancient roots.
Father,
I will sing for you
now,
Rest
you have done
and felt enough,
rest –
fly past the weary faces
of those who love you
and fear letting you go –
past the heavy burdens
of the humid ,
rancid
Southern city
you never loved,
past the edge of madness,
and all its loud rumbles,
beyond the tropical
heat and the noise –
go
and let tonight’s hidden
cool moon
embrace you
as you flow
toward the sea…..
There the cool
waters are fed
by these spring rains
and you and I
will laugh again,
plot our poems
and face whatever
may come…..
Rest and know
that my tears
write for you
now and
forever……
