Lantern on a Rock
Sometimes I would look at him and know--
by his focus in the distance--
more often than we knew--
Alone
and far off
in the hills of Hatfield
walking with a stick
and can of bait in hand
Past some fields of corn and shade tobacco
like a **** along the road
he made his way
Sometimes to accompany the sun
toward its western home
He lay across Old Jerry's withers
as they clopped along
watching it set over the Connecticut
that curled its orange meandering
around the mountains
of imagining
its contentment
Later
after mother made the diner
with all the colors of a summer's glory
he went fishing in the moonlight
of his youth
with dearest friends
Lantern on a rock
of memory
to light the way
I have Dad's old milking lantern now. On my last visit with him, he talked about night fishing on the Connecticut River with it. On another last visit as he gazed out across the valley, he said he wanted to be out hiking in those mountains.
Happy Father's Day Dad.