What makes me sad is that anything I’ve written might give you such apprehension. What gladdens my heart is knowing these snapshots made you smile and recall something worthwhile. I know there are others who will one day remember you with smiles, too. You were very kind to read and comment on these. Thank you.
You’re most welcome. Even today, the scent on newly lit tobacco has me looking around for dad. He left me preferring radio sports and a penchant for gardening, among other things. I’m glad these could evoke good memories for you. Thanks for reading!
I think I grow more varieties of tomatoes now than Dad did. But he showed me how to plant and tend a garden, despite my mulish teenage resistance. I’m grateful for his patience now. Thank you for reading!
Portraits of My Father
Dad still sits
at the kitchen table
writing letters on his legal pad
while the radio recounts an unfolding game,
Red Sox, Celtics or Canadiens;
each longhand line brings him
back to life.
Barking Dog
was Dad’s pipe tobacco;
he got more pleasure fussing with it,
scooping, packing and tamping, getting it to light,
than its acrid wreaths of smoke gave him,
but those grey mem
I enjoyed this chapter. Troy becomes a little more relaxed with Grant, and maybe Grant is feeling more than pity for Troy. That’s a lovely start. And a furnace to warm everything up! Better still. Now maybe Troy can get his van towed and fixed. You have me grateful for the early chapter, and looking forward to the next.
@aditus: To savor poetry is one of life’s greatest pleasures. That you should savor these makes me very happy. And I’m most fond of the second for quite unscientific reasons, too. Thank you for reading and savoring these.
Thank you very much for reading these, and for such generous comments. If only we could keep away the winter by what we write. I’m partial to Of Him too.
Of the Earth
Sleep, earth and dream
while in your deep white blanket wrapped
and candles gleam
'cross drifts with which the world is mapped
where autumn's secrets sere lie trapped.
Brief was rest snapped
by fretful yearnings in the breeze
which held enrapt
creation by the weather's tease,
false promises of warmth and ease.
For thus we freeze;
while slumber claims each breath and sigh,
comes through the trees
such cold from latitudes mos