Father
Father,
your back is turned,
immersed in work deadlines.
Briefcase journeys take you away,
paper trails proceeding
to lead further
from home.
Father,
this picture hangs,
secured by two magnets:
your hand in mine, showing me life.
Cocooned caterpillar
learns to fly, but
returns.
Father,
I met a man
with hands as strong as yours:
certificate signed, clothes unpacked.
Eyes computer immersed,
his back is turned
from me.
Father,
my name has changed,
though I wanted yours back.
Recessively, your name resides
in genuine smiles though
woes, faithfulness,
and hope.
Father,
your name remains,
untampered by distance,
though fading with stone's weathering.
My son lays down lilacs
and I lay down
my tears.
6-6-2021
Heptastich Poetry Contest N/A
Sponsor: William Kekaula
Copyright © Juliet Ligon | Year Posted 2021
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