Freddie

a poem for my father

Since you were old enough to talk,

you climbed Martinez Mountain

and grew wild under the desert sun 

with Chris and John.

You, of all people,

who loved to run on Avenue 50 

(who likes to run?)

with taped, hand-me-down shoes,

were unjustly robbed by fate.

Your stubbornness 

was the height of the oak 

you were cutting down,

before it did so to you, 

its limbs and yours,

falling into a wakeless sleep.

Hidden under Naivety’s kind blanket,

you were at the turning point of your life,

marrying Mom in a week -

The two of you, a year later, 

danced in your tux and her white dress,

with Mom sitting sideways on your knees.

Those days you wasted away in bed, 

and no one had the courage to tell you

until Grandma Pat said “Enough!”

When Sam and I were born,

you’d make a game of it

and pretend you were a train,

but I can’t help wondering if,

secretly, you were hurting.

I grieve for you sometimes

when I hear you tell the story,

maybe now it bothers me more than you.

I think the universe 

assigned you your fate accordingly,

knowing your unmatched strength.

Reviews

[Olivia Danielle]

This is a beautiful poem! I can really feel your emotions as you were writing this, you are very talented.

[Elise]

Thank you so much!