Dad

It is hard to write
About Dad.

I feared him
As long as he lived,

Still do.
It’s sixty-two years since he died.

He’s still alive in my dreams,
A little shorter,

Just as bald,
Never a smile.

Dad expired when I was nineteen.
His disdain for me outlived him by four.

My fear has abated little,
Terror is a trap that clamps tight—

If you amputate 
That part of you dies too.

Failure, anger, and resentment
Not all setbacks make us sour.

You’ve had your share no doubt—
I hear you keep your cheer.


Dad hired on as the church gravedigger 
(a job that suited him).

First holiday I came home from boarding school,
He asked me to help dig a grave

For Uncle Joe, his brother-in-law.
Watching me peck away at the ground 

Frozen four feet down
He seemed, for the first time, content.

Next time I saw him look 
Satisfied was at his wake

The priest mumbling prayers,
Mother wailing, tears in my eyes,

One hundred fifty at his side.
I saw a twinkle in his eye,

Someone else had dug the hole for him.

eulogyfamilyfatherfather sonfree verse

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