As I lay still, in the dimness,
I remembered and I heard his laugh,
As he pulled back my covers
On a chill Sunday morning,
To wake me with a grin
As I yelled at the cold
And clutched the covers to my chest
As he laughed, and told me
I just have time for pancakes
Before church.

My Father

I remember.
The day long ago.
The afternoon sun
Beat on my head.
He is planting trees,
Lying stones for a walkway.
Sweat pouring off him
As he lifts the rocks.
A garden place for us,
A place of peace for us.

My Father

Oh, and I do so remember,
His patience, with small,
Fumbling hands,
Learning to do
A step at a time,
The things he could do
So quickly, and so well.

My Father

And then I remember his joy,
A light he loved to share.
His smile, of simple pride,
When we showed our scrawls to him,

He would read them
Aloud, as if each phrase
Were a sonnet entire
And threatened to frame
Each crayoned drawing.

My Father

I think of all the times
He held the camera,
Every Christmas, Birthday,
Or just "fun time".
Each one a picture
Of himself.
He is in every picture
Behind everything we did.

My Father

I have my own boy now,
In him I see so much of my self,
And yet, I see someone else too,
A man so strong and good,
With hands so much bigger than mine,
Holding me up,
Holding my hand,
Strong hands, gentle hands.

My Father

Now, as I stretch
And start another day,
I can only do my best,
As he taught.
And say, from my heart,
Thank you.