Father’s Day
(Some minutes left in a day to call to mind the stories I’ve not yet written.)
This man in the photograph, reading to me from The Child’s World
The nursery rhymes over and over. The book’s pages were frayed
With the retelling. I passed it on in October when it and its companions
Were too much to move cross-country. Another family will find
Our stories, our frayed edges of delight.
And he will still be reading
To me, this man younger than I am now.
5 thoughts on "Father’s Day"
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.
Hmm
This phrasing and word choice and evocation of something created but temporarily set aside stuck with me.
“Our stories, our frayed edges of delight”
Kevin
So much to like here:
a tender scene wonderfully drawn,
curious about the other books that didn’t make the move and which ones did– perhaps another poem?
this sentence says so much: Our stories, our frayed edges of delight.
marked passage of time well: And he will still be reading
To me, this man younger than I am now.
love, given away, multiplies!
<3
Tender memories that stay with us even when the reminder has been let go. Lovely