when the telephone rang
at six in the morning
four days before Christmas Eve
I knew
things were not right
they told me
my father had died
at three in the morning
and would I please come by
arrange for the burial
and collect his belongings
at the senior citizens home
where he had spent
the last four years
of his life
they had rested him nicely
he looked at peace
I kissed him on his forehead
like I always had
at the end of my visits
and cast a last long look at his figure
before the body would be taken away
and suddenly I noticed
how big his hands were
they’d never seemed so prominent before
as if in death they sent me a reminder
of how much he had loved his hands
for work for play for sports
for fight and for survival
to point and to gesticulate
they held me as a baby and
some times
slapped me as a child
they repaired toys split wood
built sheds drove cars and motor bikes
were patient and precise
caressed and soothed and loved
they were his life
they held his world
my father’s hands
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 7:24 PM UTC
when the telephone rang
at six in the morning
four days before Christmas Eve
I knew
things were not right
they told me
my father had died
at three in the morning
and would I please come by
arrange for the burial
and collect his belongings
at the senior citizens home
where he had spent
the last four years
of his life
they had rested him nicely
he looked at peace
I kissed him on his forehead
like I always had
at the end of my visits
and cast a last long look at his figure
before the body would be taken away
and suddenly I noticed
how big his hands were
they’d never seemed so prominent before
as if in death they sent me a reminder
of how much he had loved his hands
for work for play for sports
for fight and for survival
to point and to gesticulate
they held me as a baby and
some times
slapped me as a child
they repaired toys split wood
built sheds drove cars and motor bikes
were patient and precise
caressed and soothed and loved
they were his life
they held his world
my father’s hands
