October 9, 2003
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Chapter Three – Papa (last page – poem) 
Father, returning from the hay harvest, your face as I remember, full of nothing, like the sky is emptied from its long day’s battle with the anxious birds. And I was timid, but I touched your head, the pollen on your hands, and felt you resting. And I planted, under all the garlands I had built into my hair, a stem from the anemone you brought me home.
The scattered fields of polished stacks and ambushed earth were always waiting. After I had risen, we went out together and they whispered, yonder comes the mad haymaker and his child. They knew you were the actor of my season and observed me follow faithfully across a stage of sun and grass. All day with diligence we worked to paralyze the flood and turn it from its sweating path, till finally the night with black sarcasm ranged itself in sudden recklessness above the grain. And leaning on your arm, I led you slowly back.
In time I had to flow, with what was coming to my heart, another way, but my resolves are saturated with the past and what I place upon the tables of my judges is the working of that graceful tune into a larger song. Be certain that this child is yours, and even ashes will not translate her into a different house.
I memorized in innocence the pure fugue of those years. Immediate and constant is the heart I proffer in salute to him who gave me courage rather than security to wear – the sides of time will see us pass in other voyages of love.
(to be continued)
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Deep Thought: I remember that one fateful day when Coach took me aside. I knew what was coming. “You don’t have to tell me,” I said. “I’m off the team, aren’t I?” “Well,” said Coach, “you never were really ON the team. You made that uniform you’re wearing out of rags and towels, and your helmet is a toy space helmet. You show up at practice and then either steal the ball and make us chase you to get it back, or you try to tackle people at inappropriate times.” It was all true what he was saying. And yet, I thought something is brewing inside the head of this Coach. He sees something in me, some kind of raw talent that he can mold. But that’s when I felt the handcuffs go on.
Comments (2)
That was very beautiful!
Lovely!!!