We each have a life story, penned without ink, read by the people around us. Who's writing your story?

Sunday, June 15, 2014

Daddy's Story

To Dad . . .
On this Father's Day, I finger your name on the front cover of your story.
Leafing through the pages, I discover early sketches in black and white,
later scenes in faded color, and current prints, vivid and bright.
Each chapter shares your story. Yet tucked between the lines,
a mystery echoes with silent, secret spaces.

You are a blend of caraway and oregano.
You are the haunting melody of a trombone.
You are a smiling bridegroom in the pouring rain.
You carry red, white, and blue in your heart, an anchor in your soul.
You are a rainbow of pigment on canvas.
A wooden bookcase brushed with silk.
A building project in a foreign land.

You are a little girl's playmate, a father of the bride,
"Poppy" who comes for dinner.
You read meters, the morning paper, your Bible, and my rough drafts.
You are shaving cream and Old Spice.
You are hands that fix what's broken, serve church dinners, 
vacuum the living room carpet, and color with Crayola crayons.
You are an honest day's work.
You are a tall, white steeple against clouds of charcoal gray.

You mirror my smile yet feel my tears running down your cheeks.
You build an altar on my behalf.

Every story leaves its impression.
Yours has left a indelible mark, deep and unmistakable . . .

Thank you for being a wonderful dad.
 I love you!
Dad and Mom - December 2007

1 comment:

  1. Oh, Sarah, this is wonderful. Metaphor after metaphor . . . "You are caraway and oregano." Excellent poem. Lovely tribute.