They say the art of losing isn’t hard to master
but losing my father has been hard as hell for me
There is the dust of the dead
my father has returned to dust
And the thought of no one listening —
I like that least of all
for even though I believe my father is not,
cannot be listening anymore,
I like it so little that I wear his ring and his watch
whose loud ticking reminds me
that he is still with me
Because even what was beyond us was recast in our image...
So we could pass into safety
my father is, even now, beyond me,
but I am recast in his image,
as he ensures that I pass into safety
and grace
With thanks to the following poets for providing short phrases that are woven among my own words:
Elizabeth Bishop, Gary Short, Philip Schultz, Lisel Mueller
