segunda-feira, 17 de agosto de 2009

Going Through My Father´s Things

Going Through My Father's Things

His glasses,
A half-dozen watches;
Old photographs.
My brothers get
The black-powder guns.
I choose a few things:
A clock he made,
A heron he carved,
A painting he painted.
We find old driver's licenses,
Deer tags from the 50s;
An arrowhead he found
When he was a kid.
My brother Wally gets his dog-tags.
I insist on the old wooden cigar box
My dad found in the Mojave Desert
When he was 16...
This is what happens
When you join the armory
Of widowed sons,
When a poet's father dies.

At home I am going
Through old photos
And I reach for my phone
To call my dad and say:
"Guess what I found,"
And I can't.
The entry in "Calls Received"
In my cell-phone for Friday
Still says, 'Dad';
By Tuesday he is gone.
On Friday we lay his hammer
Alongside a cedar box
Not much bigger than a book
In a hole in the ground.

Edward Steinhardt em seu blog

2 comentários:

jamesp. disse...

belo poema que me emocionou muito.Não conhecia o poeta.Me fale mais dele.Abraços.


Hermoso, atrapante!!!
Uno de esos poemas que se saborean hasta sacarle el ultimo sabor.
Gracias por postearlo...Walter