Open Highways

This poem is my daughter. When her father died at the end of March, she was away at school. She returned to tell him goodbye. From the moment of her birth, she was his greatest joy. Her guilt at being away when he collapsed & her pain & regret the last fe

Open Highways                                   (Fredrick G. Venable)

 

There is the dark maverick

in his black hat, in his tap shoes

Each unaware moment

his flashlight of sharp light

reconstructs small revelations

Today it is that old soft shoe

edging, tapping, turning

your memories into the most

useless circle of regret

He is subtle and sure

His movements are fallen sparrows

held captive in saw grass

Some days he dances

into the caricature of a wolf

and nibbles his pound of flesh

He is chewing as he dances

and you are the grand piano

that provides his song

You are the music he uses

for his endless flow

How can I lead you back

into something beautiful?

How can I convince you

of the no fault of death

If I could place you in the tub again

I would wring warm water

from a cloth down your back

I would murmur love

that is unconditional

and feel your sweet breath

in the soap bubbles of laughter.

We have suffered the loss

of a brilliant heart

One that had no dealings

with regrets

One that looked forward

with round, sharp eyes

& loved us beyond our good

He would not want the strength

he urged into your veins

to falter now in uncertainty

He watches the world

with interest from your eyes

He loves the whole meadow

of your life

for the great passion

you brought to his

Keep your head high

and your mind in expansion

Keep your heart light

with the lifetime of love

that formed you strong.

Do not look backwards

into the trickster eyes,

into the cunning face, of regret

Up ahead your father waits

for you to start the car

He is checking your tires

He is filling the tank

He makes certain you have

a brilliant map of the road

He is sending his brightest smile

into the burst of your open highways.

 

Reviews

[Ed Hart]

this hasn't happened before: i am reviewless! and humbled...

[Larissa G.]

It's the perfect send-off. I love it, especially lines like
"His movements are fallen sparrows
held captive in saw grass"

Best of luck to both of you.

[Donald Meikle]

Well said mother Phib, I think he helped you find the words.

[W.k.kortas]

What Emily said and so much more. Valedictory and practically perfect.

[Emily B]

Phibby, add my prayers to those of your own that her guilt will be eased--that she will rest easy knowing that she was loved in such a beautiful way. That she is still loved in such a perfect and complete way.

And add to those prayers a special thought or two for you. Your words have always been a blessing to me. The power of your poetry takes my breath away. And today is no exception.

Much love.