I called my father the other day
I had forgotten the rift between us
and my action was triggered by tired
worn habits from days long gone

He wasn’t home, no answering
machine to pick up his phone
I forgot he died two months ago

My dad will never laugh or yell again
the touch of death, ... so final.
I’ll never hear his voice again

Rethinking the years
he lived so long ... he was very old
But he was never happy,
he hadn’t had a good life
Just a lot of dreams and
memories to carry him along

Sorting through what he’s left behind
I search for hidden jewels he talked about
Diamond and sapphire rings
Cash tucked safely in discreet crevices

Dad acted like he owned the world
Yet in reality he owned a few boxes of buttons
a hanger for ties folded away in a broken down
suitcase were some wrapped up shirts,
boxes of cufflinks and tie pins

The tie rack is full now with about
thirty five of my husband’s ties
Cye says he’ll remember Dad always
for giving him that much needed tie rack

He says I thanked your dad
when we buried him, when I shoveled
earth on top his casket
Yes, I said that’s good

The cufflinks and tie pins
lie in a velvet lined,
inlaid wood box now
gracing my son’s dresser
He wears them now and then or just
takes them out to gaze at them

I look at all the things I took:
Binoculars, made of etched brass
whose view is unclear, another pair
I use to watch hawks soar
outside my window
making life into a stage show

two fountain pens, recalcitrant, ...
... were discarded
a rhinestone covered
magnifying glass
with a burn scar on its spine
This is what my dad left behind
from his life, now for mine