I may have, maybe not, mentioned when meeting a man in Boston, Hal Sirowitz, he reminded me of my dad, my dad's illness- Parkinson's. I realized afterward, when arriving at the apartment exhausted from the bustling all day, I had never grieved for my parents. They died soon after Anelisa did, and I miss them. I don't miss the bull-honky that went with their habitual fighting, a result from his snarky and mean comments toward my mother, maybe because he stopped drinking and smoking all the years before.
So, I have been trying to mourn. Remember them, and honor them. The one problem I have is, as usual the daughter remembers her father in a more complimentary light. My mother was riddled with her own problems, and I guess not wanting to remember her in such a depressed state, as she was always in, I write more about Daddy.
I also found out today, a very good family friend is dying from ovarian cancer, she already battles an immune disease, and it will be a great loss to my husbands step mom, as it is her best friend.
I am taking a poetry class, and part of that class we have to read so many poems a day, analyze them, and then writer our own version or inspired versions of poetry. Send them to the teacher and work shop them as a class. So here is something I wrote today...
On The Water’s
in the boat’s front seat
than the container of bait worms
in the hot sun in fake earth
on the hook as my fingers guide.
head into a group of bare trees;
daddy long leg spiders run
opposite directions, away from us.
down into the floor I escape
boat still rocks back and forth
is already anxious for a cigarette
clean off the trout lines
voice cracks telling me to sit still.
took me over the other siblings,
know this because he often bragged
how quiet and like him his
born is, and does so in whispers
the others don’t hear.
tell me how I favor his mother
he misses greatly, and often
swing by her house
a surprise visit.
over the boats edge,
chin lodged over the side
the clear fresh water, observing
fish going after bugs, and smaller fish
wish to follow them into the
speak in soft tones,
out bubble responses,
at a moment’s notice,
toward other rewards.
Incredible Mr. Limpet’
by losing his derby
in that Don Knott voice in my head
out a funny joke toward me.
laugh out loud, risking wrath.
father has already started the engine
a smile, because many fish
up life with little fight today
he has bigger things to fry.
The Bigger Catch
long to feel that water’s edge
see my father look from the shadows
the sunlight, and recognize me.
yellowing undershirt pops up
above his blue work shirts
with his middle name Glen.
the birth certificate it is spelled
two n’s, but he always thought
was the Scottish version of
he likes best, over
beer, and a good barbeque
over the grill on Sunday’s
can smell a mix of flesh cooking;
hamburgers, hot dogs, cheap steaks,
often fresh fish he caught
there dressed in his Bermuda shorts
his red neck tanned arms at
female guests waiting and giggling
the mirrored patio door.
rises from the neighbor’s patio
I float in my adult home swimming pool
door, drowsy, but waking from a quick nap.
feel the burn from the suns hot rays
my shoulders, my straps pulled down
when I was a teenage girl
to slip out of the house
my hand-me-down bikini
the padded bra.
caught me on the patio just
the dogs began fighting next to me
warned me not to wear it in public.
my eyes again, my father quickly lets go
anger; smiling back at me as he drifts off
the green flat bottom boat. It is growing dark,
and he is alone on the old lake.
swim out to him, pulling on the side, I can
feel small fish nibble on my toes,
frogs are peeping up from the rocks, I shriek
can swear he says ‘there will be other days’.
I also have a new poem up over at Elizabeth Akin Stelling, and this poem may or may not be removed, if it is published it will be in my own book, one to be published this year. - E