Life With Horace

poetry & essays


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Still

What visits me today?
A lullaby in baritone
and funny bits of song,
dreadful jokes
in nuanced tones,
bearded bristle paired
with a million kisses,
all too human shoulders
I thought and hoped
were everlasting granite,
long held friendships both
a gift and an example,
the pungent scent of cuban leaf
lit anywhere but in the house,
a feel for speed and open road,
the skies he loved and flew so well,
laughter books and music
with the color light and form
he looked at every day,
these brought him peace,
the certainty of love
from open eyes,
straight told advice
his caring deep,
his spirit so ingrained,
that now whenever
need is great
I conjure loving echoes
of an imperfect
perfect father,
to see me through
the dark

_______________________________
My father died at 89 in 2005, suddenly, but blessedly not alone, my sister was with him. His legend looms large in our lives, to quote a beatle, and I know we all miss him, need him, still and always.