A Sudden Change of Seasons
A Sudden Change of Seasons
My father disappears
in stacks at a crowded bookstore.
The aisles echo,
now oddly empty.
Calling his name,
searching in ancient
Greek and Latin, in Shakespeare
and George Bernard Shaw,
my mother and I bump
into each other
It is later
than we thought.
We missed
the downtown bus.
Eat lunch and wait
in the sun.
Between planters of petunias and golden
honey locusts, we watch
for my father.
I think I see him,
an anonymous man
in a brown felt hat
and trench coat flapping
headed our way,
books tied in twine
and brown paper. The city bus
blocks him from sight, won’t stop
when I try to flag it down. When it is gone
without us, my father is gone
again, too.
I think he’s vanished
into the city until I spot him
sledding
with a group of children,
running up the snowy hill
with an air mattress.
He turns, waves once,
and continues on
without us.
Mary Stebbins
060318 this version (see earlier)
My father disappears
in stacks at a crowded bookstore.
The aisles echo,
now oddly empty.
Calling his name,
searching in ancient
Greek and Latin, in Shakespeare
and George Bernard Shaw,
my mother and I bump
into each other
It is later
than we thought.
We missed
the downtown bus.
Eat lunch and wait
in the sun.
Between planters of petunias and golden
honey locusts, we watch
for my father.
I think I see him,
an anonymous man
in a brown felt hat
and trench coat flapping
headed our way,
books tied in twine
and brown paper. The city bus
blocks him from sight, won’t stop
when I try to flag it down. When it is gone
without us, my father is gone
again, too.
I think he’s vanished
into the city until I spot him
sledding
with a group of children,
running up the snowy hill
with an air mattress.
He turns, waves once,
and continues on
without us.
Mary Stebbins
060318 this version (see earlier)
5 Comments:
i had a dream of a masculine paternal insensitive and unwavering...however...I was told by an elder a while ago that this is my life...and live my life...
I enjoy your poems...
Thanks amiamazing!!! I thi k all our dreams are us to a greater or lesser extent. and living your life I'm sure is the best possible advice. Mary :-)
I like this version the best, it works.. it also hurts.
But you see, I lost my father too.
Thanks so much LDahl! I am so sorry you lost your father. It still hurts, years later.
Hi, Mary: I enjoyed reading several of your prose and poetlry pieces this morning. Your poetic sense is scattered all around the blogs you have so tastefully developed.
Could I also invite you to visit my blogs:
http://rksingh.blogspot.com
http://rksinghpoet.blogspot.com
http://profrksingh.blogspot.com
and share your comments on my writing. especially poetry.
Best wishes
R K Singh
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