Poem

Poem: For My Father

Apr 23, 2014
Laurie James

FOR MY FATHER

My father said everything

when he whistled his way home

in the dust of a square evening,

that held the trail of a shooting star 

in the violet sky.

A Peter Pan in work boots, 

his cap set cocked-back,

his one-seeing eye tangoing 

to the tune of “It’s Only Make Believe, I Love You”

above the crunch of gravel underfoot.

He should have moved to the Crazy Mountains

worn a bowler

learned to play the viola 

Instead, he drew the bow of a welder

Poem: Mnemosyne Forgets

Mar 5, 2014

The long bowed wood left marks on the hardwood floor,

so we tried to keep the rocker on a rug.

It didn't work and every house would have these streaks

where our rocking had stripped wax off.

Memory is a hesitant thing,

a thing best left on shelves for rainy days.

What troubles me is remembering,

remembering August ninth-

nineteen ninety five.

A boundary day, a before and after day.

He wasn't just a guitar player missing the upper bird digits of his wing-ed finger.