Tuesday Poem: "One More Summer"

“I just want one more summer,” my father said

as he lay upon his winter bed

and I held his hand as though

I could prevent him from slipping away.

“I love you, Dad,” I said though I could scarce

force the words from a throat scratched with tears.

He had no such trouble.

Liberated by the shadow of time

from the verbal prison of his generation

he said: "I love you too. I love all my sons very much."

Four sons. You could say he had sired

enough pallbearers.

The son born by the father, the father borne by the son.

Such is the circle.

I held his hand,

once the outrider of his vitality,

now purpled by cold and blotched with age

and I thought about the history of that hand,

meting punishment, giving guidance,

saving my life on more than one occasion.

That hand had never wavered

in the duty of its love.

I held your hand, my father,

and I thought of all I longed to give you

like grandchildren

and achievements worthy of

bowling green braggery.

But most of all

I wanted to open my hand

and find there

one more summer

to give you

before you go to where

I hope it is always summer.

The poet wishes to acknowledge Valley Micropress in whose pages this poem first appeared.