Round Tables
Tag Archives: Father
First Art Project
Ball Lightning
Memories of Dad and the ranch on Father’s Day.
BALL LIGHTNING
BALL LIGHTNING
In the front door out the back
A ball of lightning through the barn
in the story dad would tell
I wonder now if the light was white
and if it made a sizzling sound
as some who’ve seen one have described
All happened in a blink I guess, and gone,
like this, and all the questions that I didn’t ask
LITTLE BROWN JUG
LITTLE BROWN JUG
My father had three sons
and taught them all
how to tie a grain sack, how to cut a calf
how to talk to a horse you walked up behind
so you wouldn’t get kicked or killed
Good things to know
but none of us are working cattle now
He played a mean harmonica
would that he would have taught us that
ROUND TABLES
ROUND TABLES
He loved his neighbors, but not out loud
(Only by default could we tell if he was proud
men did not hug their friends or children then)
There were no women in the bar
and all the tables round and small
heavy with ashtray and pilsner draft
where they talked code till closing time
Politics of any stripe meant you are my brother
The weather, whatever the weather
meant I love you too
ALICE’S FATHER
ALICE’S FATHER
Farther and farther he sank
below the surface of dementia
And yet like a salmon
in his homeland of Scotland
he would rise to the words
of a favorite poem
Grab the hook and leap
the length of the line
THE STROKE
THE STROKE
I lost my father
when he was sixty one
He wasn’t exactly lost
I knew where he was
but he didn’t
Six weeks in a coma
some parts he sent ahead
and some came back
The great Swiss-German
precision driven
driven precision
mind stopped ticking
True the right artistic side
the one he’d put away
the one that mostly died
when his mother died
at eight came out to play
Whatever we hadn’t resolved
and there was plenty
stayed that way
but art is no small
thing either
WORKING WITH FATHER
WORKING WITH FATHER
In the short days of a long winter
we sort nuts, bolts, and washers
against the busy days of summer
Place them in well-marked bins
accompanied always by his mentor’s
Never waste five dollars worth of time
looking for a five cent bolt
The 9/16th fine-threads do not go in
with the regular or coarse
When you’re four
it’s not hard to get up
at four to ride in the cattle
truck to the city with your dad
excitement keeps you awake all night
There are knots you need to know
reef, sheepshank, and the ever
popular bowline that can still
be undone even after looping
a red bull weighing a ton
Hook the twine around your
little finger just son, in a way
that I could never get,
three turns and knot
the gunny sack
in two seconds
flat
Heel that calf, or turn the herd
drive the truck at the perfect speed
to catch the combine
on the fly
There is a great deal of pleasure in
doing something right, when right
is the only way anything should
ever be done
But never far, even yet
from the red-black cloud
of doing it wrong
FAMILY TREE
FAMILY TREE
My father took the roots into the ground
And the tree of my mother
began to fall
An oxygen hose tethered her some
a forest of family and friends
slowed the fall
She tore off some leaves
as she fell