Friday, October 11, 2024

Early

The death of my father is nearly a month

away – 31 years.  The haunting of longing

has begun.  The end of his life was nothing

like the fullness of it.  How apropos he

died in the fall, his favorite time of the year.

What do I miss most?   Perhaps the way he clasped

his hands together after the good-bye hug and kiss 

on our necks as if another victory – a triumph of love –

had been won.  The visitation this year, early, has begun.

-Byron Hoot

https://hootnhowlpoetry.com

No comments:

Post a Comment

Living Statue

Silent, he sits entranced in his own enigma of thought. I wait. I watch, Not knowing how to reach or touch him. And if I did, what would I d...