Ashes
(for my Father)
The leaves still fall in November
carpeting the dying grass
beneath the oaks and magnolias,
each tree offering a
variation in the sound of footfalls.
Your footsteps are silent now,
only remembered,
only by me.
Our late afternoon Sunday walks,
sharp as the light edged past
the tops of the now-bare branches,
cradled in the arms of a seasonal death.
You held my hand
as I walked along the wall when I was small,
and carried me on your shoulders
when I grew tired.
Both of us older,
we would ramble for hours
talking of everything and nothing
until my nose and toes were chilled
and my fingertips hurt
from the dampening cool.
And still your hands were warm.
Always warm.
I cannot think of your hands being cold.
It’s a comfort in some strange way
that you are ashes now
and not lying in the cold earth.
It fits that you are ashes and air
As you burned to me
so bright and warm
all those years.
6 comments
Comments feed for this article
November 8, 2012 at 11:59 am
suzicate
This is beautiful, made me teary eyed. My father is 82 now and I still love rambling through the woods with him listening to his stories of family history and land…and yes, the hands still so soft and warm. Thank you for this today. I was already feeling nostalgic after one of our long telephone conversations this morning.
November 8, 2012 at 12:04 pm
Seasweetie
Thank you, suzicate. I’m so glad you still have precious time with your father.
November 8, 2012 at 12:54 pm
slpmartin
One of the most beautiful remembrance poems I can recall…truly an expression of love.
November 8, 2012 at 1:50 pm
Seasweetie
Thank you so much, slp.
November 8, 2012 at 3:25 pm
dayphoto
I miss my Dad also. Thanks!
Linda
http://coloradofarmlife.wordpress.com
http://deltacountyhistoricalsociety.wordpress.com
November 8, 2012 at 3:28 pm
Seasweetie
You’re welcome, Linda.