Thinking ahead to Father's Day

You, Understood 

(for my father. 2007)

 

You gave me words as playthings,

taught me to read forward

and backwards: wax prolix,

longevity, gnibbur lohocla. But

you put no word to your illness.

 

You would not name it,

though you gave me names

for the sparrow and nuthatch

perched on the wooden

bird feeder you’d hung out

the second-story window.

We ate breakfast with chickadees.

You named me, your firstborn,

Lelo, Loi-San, Eloise, and sang

My little Louisa, you’re the one for me.

 

You gave me Thanksgiving

hymns, All good gifts around us,

when I climbed the high stool

in your workshop to watch

your deft fingers repair Mom's vase.

His yoke is easy and his burden

light, the entire Messiah

one Saturday on the Ford

wagon's radio. Beethoven's Ninth

shook our book-lined walls,

Joyful, joyful. And you hummed

Feelin' groovy with Simon,

Garfunkel, and me.

 

I could not think what song

to offer you in turn. Then

I’d do anything for you, Dad

and The Lord bless thee

and keep thee clamored together

through my taut throat,

while your fingers, long

bent with arthritis, cooled

in my hand.