You, in a box,
you, in my heart,
a random collection,
scattered, torn, worn,
you, in a uniform,
inside dog eared edges,
you, a flat, milky, Polaroid scratched,
smiling back, at me, at us,
in those moments recumbent,
you, in those moments, so vivid,
picking tomatoes, holding a trout
you on your boat, and camping,
you on the ice, without a shirt,
because the sun was out,
and it was 68 degrees,
on a Saturday afternoon in February,
you laughing with the boys, with your piles of fish,
you could not believe your luck,
and it possibly was, your very best winter day ever.
And you, smiling, with reverence, holding a carved, wood duck,
your signature, a penny, rattling inside the neck.
I’ve been careless with them,
the glossies, the mattes,
the little squares of time,
the moments,
haphazardly stacked,
your moments, not mine.
How could I be so careless?
So careless with you, stowed away in a box?
You, just slipping around inside an old, cardboard box?
You,
your sideburns, your pipe,
your ball cap, your drink,
in your favorite flannel shirt,
you, gone in a blink,
you building, and digging,
and pulling up weeds,
in the garden, on your knees,
“massaging the soil”
planting your seeds.
You,
reaching for,
our sweet, laughing babies,
you, on the floor,
crawling, crawling with them,
a hearty man, so tough, made soft.
You and I,
mugging,
with a rose between our teeth,
You and I,
dancing,
with joyful abandon, to Me and Bobby McGee,
you and your family,
you belonging,
you, in a box now
along with my longing,
piled, condensed,
just in a box,
in a closet, placed upon a shelf.
I am flustered,
blistered,
welling up.
You,
in my heart,
broken for years,
the flashes in time,
those remnant snap shots,
of your life moments captured,
they reduce me,
render me,
wholly distraught,
You,
in a box,
those jumbled, little squares,
they tell your story,
the story of who you were,
and who you were not.
He was taken away too soon. I miss him every day. I treasure the time we had and remember his sense of humor, his kindness, his gentle demeanor, his humble character, his love for his family, his joy of fishing, his love of nature, his dimples, his sensitivity to the needs of others, his love of building and creating, his smile and twinkle of his eyes when he watched George do something mechanical….. so many memories. I will always cherish all the fun times we had together – and there were so many. I could fill a room full of boxes with all my memories of my sweet, gentile brother and best friend.
I think about my dad every day…loved him so!
Beautiful poem. A tribute and some fond memories. Lost my dad last Thanksgiving. He was my champion, my teacher, and the best dad I the world. I miss him very much.
Thank you for reading my poem…I was certainly stricken with poignant memories of my dad when sorting through some pictures one day. I remember thinking that the photos are pretty much all I have left of him, and there they were, in a cardboard box, on a shelf. Hence, the poem. I appreciate your comment(s).
Wonderful!