Give me back my father walking the house
with light clinging to his boots.
Give me back his tape measure, his keys
his dimpled kind smile and perfectly ironed shirts.
Return his kiss curl waved hair, his clean
scent of ivory soap and light gray flannel, his way of
quietly reading the newspaper and his I will make
everything better embrace.Give back his paradoxically
soft working man's hands, which were large enough
to both push and pull the earth at his will, and my request.
Give back the way he'd have held his first freshly born
grandchild... and then his second.
Give me his daydreams on lined paper,
his hope in a blended blue-green ink.
I don't understand this uncontainable grief.
Month after month, year after year,
I have laid myself down and raised myself up,
and not once has this knowledge entered my body
still trying to knit up the emptiness.