Words From the Grave
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"It's all going to be okay" he would say,
with no scent of doubt in his breath,
even as its aroma reeked from mine,
as I'd blurt out "how can you be so sure?"
I never figured out what made my dad so positive in life,
though I'm positively sure his life wasn't free from trial
and the upsetting detours that can uproot our foundations
and upend the tables of tradition we depended on.
On and on life goes like this,
until it ends.
I wonder
What traditions did my father depend on
and, lay to rest,
for something, better?
What pressures pressed him so thin
that he'd give up those things
he once loved so dearly?
Is that what transformed him
into the appreciative, hopeful, happy guy
we laid to rest?
Copyright © Rebecca Kiser | Year Posted 2025
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