Here is the second poem dealing with the death
of my father where I examine the first time I touched his face.
Touching the Face of My Father (Father #2)
Many years have passed since the touch
First and last, hello goodbye.
My father lay finally resting
Still unable to feel.
How could this being so scary and large
Really be so small and withered
As if much more left
Than just spirit.
Touch is so strange and confusing
The first time I dared
The intimacy I so craved
So many feelings fill the moment.
Afraid of death’s finality
Afraid he will wake…
Sad in the first peaceful silence
For the dream
That’s passed too.
Confused, anxious about what I should
Be doing… and feeling…
His teaching still alive
Even when his flesh be still
No meaning here to be found
Just the stunned pit
Into which this bedroom
Seems to have fallen.
Withdrawing my hand from him
My first touch of my father’s face
And of death
I am adrift.
Where do I steer
Now that the shore to which I’ve clung
However desolate and sere
Has sunk into oblivion?