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Feb 2018
father-watching
faraway
triggered sweet by
memory plucked
from twinge of
heart at
husband whiskers
sprinkled in
the sink


father
slow transforming
out of sight
whisker white
a-creep through
long-time
beard of boyish
blondish-brown


sprouting
scraggled out from
ear and nose
and knuckle
round


eyes a-cave
and sunken deep
in shaded-over
cavities


for inward looking
more than
out


with no more
footballs
flung
about


and no more
children yanking
on the waking hours'
daggy trousers


for weeping
over old-time
music secret
in the dark


up with the
birds
down with
the sun


midlife
rush at last
a-hush and
calm in its
surrender
done


bones exposed
of parenthood
held frail a-clung
by gristle grey of
simple habits


coffee thick
and silky
run with
milk


and crispest
crusty bread
torn up
for dipping into
hearty stock


with olives
cheese and
ham on top


a drop
of something
oaky sipped
and languished


a-crawl with
thoughts of
father own
disintegrating


boyhood memories
coddled close
and satiating


with daughter
unbeknownst
father-watching
faraway


© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
A man to whom one has looked up with reverence is especially treasured. His strength, his masculinity, his ability to protect those he loves. And as he ages his loved ones notice a softness creeping in, which only belies the softy they always knew he was inside.

But nevertheless it is poignant to watch—even from afar—as a great man begins to wither. Ever so slightly. But wither. In his body only, not his mind. But wither.
Adelaide Heathfield
Written by
Adelaide Heathfield  31/F/Peekskill, NY
(31/F/Peekskill, NY)   
467
     ---, --- and Patrick
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