ELEGY FOR MY FATHER
He’s nowhere now.
That’s why I can talk to him
without being interrupted.
That’s why he is free
to appear to me in dreams
I don’t remember.
Here I am, happy
to make him say anything
I want. Sky’s the limit.
Or the edge of a pond
across the road, his ashes
mixing in with scum
lapping up on its shores
after the winter snow
has melted. Birdsong
returning. Crocuses
and daffodils pushing up
through the loam. Look Dad!
I want to say to him.
Look at all this beauty
now that you’re gone.
FOR THOSE WHO DIED ON THE SAME DAY MY FATHER ALSO DIED
One killed trying
to fill a generator
with gasoline while
it was running
and set himself
on fire. Another
swept away
by a river flowing
through his house—
nothing like
that girl crushed
by a tree while out
walking her puggle—
poor thing
showed up on
our doorstep
dragging behind
its long wet leash.
PARABLE
For his birthday,
his Daddy gave him
a chicken and a bag
of feed and said:
Go ahead, name him
and try to take
good care of him—
he’s all yours!—and so
it began, learning
what sounds his bird
responded to
from dawn to dusk
and where the sun
happened to be
in the sky—shadow
of a hawk wing
circling the ground
until summer
grew fat and late—
canopy growing thick
in their backyard
when his Daddy
started ringing out
a dinner bell
in one hand
and swinging an axe
with the other—
soon handing over
the heavy thing
to his son
as they made
their way slowly
to the stump.
