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Nan C Loyd

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Ode to My Father's Truck
by Nan C Loyd

Thursday, July 10, 2008
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Memory of my late father

Everywhere I look I see traces of my dad

but never so much

as in the truck he left behind

 

And although I know I’ll never forget him

or who he was

or what he looked liked because he’s

captured in photographs

 

It is most obvious in the truck he left behind

 

Maybe that is why I never moved these

little traces of my dad,

the bottle of motor oil,

his notebook with his handwriting

his hat – his tools – his battery cables - his gloves

 

Because every time I get in the truck

I am enveloped by traces of my dad

and it is as if

he never left me behind

 

If I sit still and quiet,

closing my eyes in the hush

I can almost see his hand on the steering wheel

and almost hear him say

“Let’s stop at Hardy’s for a biscuit.”

 

These traces of my dad.

Maybe that’s why I never moved

these traces of my dad

they remind me that he was just here

these traces of my dad

 

I miss him

 

 

2008 © Nan C

 

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Reviewed by Madeson Penny 9/13/2010
Excellent and moving. What better way to start out the day - bawling like a baby. :)
Reviewed by Paul Judges 11/9/2009
Lovely tribute, Nan
Reviewed by John Domino 8/14/2009
We miss those special folks who touch us. A wonderful tribute to your dad.

Amen
Reviewed by Annabel Sheila 5/27/2009
Lovely tribute to your father. My dad's been gone for 12 years, and I miss him like the day he left. Good job Nan.

Anna
Reviewed by Lois Christensen 7/26/2008
Am right there with you in missing my Dad. I always went with him and sat in the back seat when a child as if to say He's my chauffer.
He didn't mind, I did not mind. I was my fathers sidekick he'd tell others. I had such good times with him. Mother was the disciplanarian in our family and Dad and I were the ones who stuck together against her if we could. He was a very good man, my dad and handsome besides. Have photos to relate to him when needing memories.
Reviewed by Linda Law 7/11/2008
I know you miss him...like Cryssa misses her mom; and I miss both of mine, my son, my precious mate, and on and on it goes... You know, sometimes we don't have to "move" to "feel" them near....but sometimes we have no choice....but remember this.... wherever you are..He is! My late hubby used to tell me about my first granddaughter... She is the spittin image of you thru and thru...and as long as she lives...you live! I thought about that, and it spoke volumes... We are a part of those we love and so on... I love this poem very much... very very much. Lindalaw
Reviewed by Cryssa C 7/10/2008
I know the feeling...There I things I just don't move because they contain traces of my mother.

Cryssa
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