Daddy's Hand
50
balding velvet covered kneelers
without a cheating look would know just when
first organ notes surging from the balcony
pouring over the rail and falling on my head
change of glint to matte in the mural's gold
as I winked at the ceiling this eye then that
only a few things in church I enjoyed like
the feel of your round warm hand reaching for mine
tiny with slender fingers stretched to the point of pain
interlaced with yours as thick as bell chords
afraid to move for fear you'd see
how mismatched and pull away apologetically
stubbornly I'd fight the throbbing ache
to hold my Daddy's hand
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Lovely poem! Rated up and beautiful.
Thanks Sharin, sweet comment.
Hi PWalker, thanks for coming by.
I fought a tear. Very lovely
Patti your not supposed to get teary. This is the first poem I've written about him since he died that isn't sad.
I read this some time ago, but it has an even more special poignancy now.
Does it Tom?
Yes. So thank you.
I read it once, and wondered where it was going, but I trust your mind and poetry so much, so by the time I was half way through I could feel my heart fluttering in my chest.
Then when I read it again, I could let my tears flow.
Patricia, you have a fan!
I was so overwhelmed by the poem that I wandered off, not having clicked any buttons... Voted UP and BEAUTIFUL.
Oh TL I reached you! That is when a poem is truly completed. Big smiles over here.
It reached me all right. I have had this picture in my mind all day: "with slender fingers stretched to the point of pain".
What a beautiful analogy. My mind raced back in time, and I was there, And believe me, I could feel my fingers stretched. Wonderful work, Patricia.
Sharin Lambert 8 months ago
Quite beautiful, poignant infact. You have such a way of turning those ever so sweet, yet painful flashes of memory into golden orniments on the tree of life :)