My Father’s Chair

My Father's chair.

My Father’s chair.

Oh, to be snowbound today
blanketed safe from the noise of living,
heavy quiet stilling daily chores,
calling to halt nervous chatter,
busy hands,
icing the burn of loss

I would sit in his chair at the kitchen
window, his lens to a world he once
imbibed, to see his view, one
he will no longer attend

I would watch snow silently lining branches
bend till boney fingers kiss the ground
weighed down by flakes so fragile
until too many rest
one on top of the next,
surrender, and finally,
release to Winter’s call

.

.

.

Author’s Note:

My dad passed through the veil sunday morning while I was away at Mass.

This morning, with the snow bearing down on the Eastern Coast, I saw his empty chair at the window he so enjoy looking out.

I miss him so.

Dad's view of the world and the tree that brought him so much enjoyment.

Dad’s view of the world and the tree that brought him so much enjoyment.

 

if only i was God.

it fell from my hand
from what once seemed
a perfect balance
safe
it slipped

surprise was not in the crash
scattering of pieces
unable to be refashioned
a precious spirit
irreplaceable

everything appeared boundless
palms cupped, arms raising
but it didn’t find its place
to rest, my sanctuary,
it fell without warning

abrupt
keenly slicing through the day
required deep digging
scraping
to the answer
to the core
to divine the plague

questions flow
the whats and the hows
why
a quest to find healing for
an antiphon too early chanted

my iced heart fears to think
looking out numbly
not wanting pain for the broken
fearing the silence

oh, if only
i was God.