The coffee table Dad built stares at me,
The deep blue glass top reflects my loneliness.
Fatherís Day, once again I miss him.
Iím jealous of all who lunch with their Dads,
Who buy yet another tie or
Give him tickets to the game.
On this day, I just sit here
I donít have much from his life,
Only his hammer and some carpenter tools.
His two beautiful lamps made before I was born,
Sit silently in the room.
Memorials to him and his skills.
I sit and debate placing flowers on his grave
Or leafing through his photo album.
Instead I hold his cufflinks in my hands, relics to
sooth my soul.
-† Leona M Seufert