I.

It’s funny how we begrudge certain things that we inherit from our parents. Hair too curly? Thanks, dad. Butt too big? Too skinny? Thanks a lot, mom. And what about the things you can’t see? The tiniest bit insecure? Or perhaps a corny sense of humor? That can’t be my fault, huh? It must have been mom or dad or, more likely, both. Thanks again.

I bring this up only because of something I inherited from my father. He passed away almost eleven years ago but it wasn’t until about two years ago that I discovered a yellowed old spiral composition book in a drawer. (Anyone else remember Blue Horse Composition Books?) Much to my surprise, it was filled with some of the most beautiful poetry I’ve ever read. What didn’t surprise me was that his writing is almost undecipherable. None of the poems are titled- just page after page of scribbled emotion- to the point that it’s sometimes hard to tell where one begins and the other ends.

I showed it to my mother and she held onto it for a week or so. Then she gave it back to me saying that she’d seen it only once before. When she saw that I was having trouble processing that information, she ended the conversation with “Even in marriage, especially in marriage, people need at least one thing that’s theirs and only theirs.”

Well dad, I’m sorry. You’re still loved and missed. Your wishes are still respected but your words are too beautiful not to share. You understand, right?

Anyway, thanks dad.

I.

If I could wade among the stars

And feel their tingling

About my knees,

Could I but draw the drapes of night

into a dawn of golden seas

Would I find you

bathed in starlight

Waiting- perhaps for me?