Poem of the Month

 

Relics

 

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.

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