Its been a while since I last Visited my fathers grave. I gazed Down at the marble stone that bore his And his mothers names. If I could See through the stone and soil, I would see his casket, and his mothers Beneath it. If I could see through The wooden case, I would see his bones And his clothes. How long since I last Held his hand? Hold long since I last Pressed it against my forehead? But the Time which has elapsed since his passing Did not diminish the vividness of My memory of the size and roughness Of his palms. I prayed the rosary and Wondered whether he, and his mother, Could hear me. Do words take flight When they are uttered as prayers? I saw a flock of sparrows fly over the graves And perch onto the nearby metal fences. I bent and touched the slab of stone, Felt its heat and smoothness, and With my fingers I traced the slanting Letters -- the C, the U, the A, The L, the E, and then the S -- And the numbers which represented The dates of their births and deaths. -- My Fathers Grave
Posted on: Sun, 21 Dec 2014 09:38:43 +0000
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