I didn’t know that when my father died, he’d be back,
and wearing his robin’s-egg-blue suit to Sunday dinner,
his tie loosened, jacket slung over the oak armchair,
his tanned face, his white forehead from his Co-op cap,
and under those pale blue eyes, flashing like specula,
his full smile, like a favourite sweater you can wear
all day, where we, his quarter-acre of family,
lingered into the cool of the evening.
When that scene, six months after his burial, settled
into the cells of my dreams, I searched in vain for a word
to match this kind of reaped-joy-from-sown-tears contentedness.
That was almost thirty years ago, when I still didn’t know
that if you listen close enough, you’ll hear the northern lights
sing, Glory in the Highest, or that if you linger long enough,
the staggering intricacy of a dandelion, gone to seed,
will rinse your day in silver, or that if you plant your hands deep
in soil, the tide of your blood will sync with the earth, or that when
you finally let go of your pick-ax, as well as many other things,
a gold seam in the deep mines of your soul, will appear.
These are things I picked up without knowing — while walking
with him across a stubble field to a stuck tractor, while watching sparks
fly past his welding helmet, while seeing him at his small desk
in a cramped corner at the back of our store, head bowed,
the light from his green lamp circling around a wave of black hair —
things that only now have set up camp within my heart.
How I pray, when my day has come and gone,
my own sons would find me
in such a dream.
Beautiful
With a father like you, I am sure they will
Thanks for that Ananda!
“let go of your pick ax” I love the pivot. It hangs on that point so well. Really lovely.
Thanks so much, Tiffany. That means a lot.
Thank you for this poem, today, right now, when I need it most. Your sons will treasure the many words documenting your own soul’s voyage within these daily prayers.
Emily, it makes me truly happy that these few words touched you today. And thank you for the lift you provide me as well.
They will, and we all will, treasure these words.
beautiful. Thanks,
Thank you, dear sister.
Just – THANK YOU for helping me breathe fully and slowly and feel grateful
And thank you! for your letting me know. Grateful!
Such perfection in this poem.something of a higher order. Love your work, Stephen.
Terry Ann, that means a lot coming from you, dear poet friend.
” reaped-joy-from-sown-tears contentedness”…
I love that word Stephen!
Very much put me in mind of my own father, and
such a father as you are. <3
Thank you for this.
Thank you so much, Tamara!
“when I still didn’t know
that if you listen close enough, you’ll hear the northern lights
sing, Glory in the Highest”
I find so many things in the natural world sing this same song when we listen…so beautifully worded.
Thank you, Kellie!
Thanks so much, Steve, for putting words to what all five of us know in our hearts – and evoking further memories for me. Truly a legacy to live in to.
Thanks, Sam.