Thursday, September 2, 2010

Pounding The Pavement (for my Father)

Things remind me— Little things.


the simplest of sounds or

sights or a color of light

nudges a thought.

The time of day casts your shadow.

A word or flavor on the tip of my

tongue– suddenly you appear gazing

at me with your comments and the

sound of your voice reminds my ears of

how much they miss you.

I want to drop down and pound

the pavement with my fists till it

cracks open to release you and

bring you up from the dust,

bring you back to the world so

you can fix things again. And

I will stand there dutifully, happy

to hold a flashlight for you into the

dark night while you work.

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