My father died when I was 19, and years later I still remember him, his love, and the fun we had.

I remember how I cried the day my father died.The doctor laid the blame when he said that cancer came:Lymph nodes, lungs, philosophy of Carl Jung,Words of explanation for everything.The service was long, and I tried to be strong.The stench of red carnations still fills my imagination,People’s faces, words of the Lord’s gracesNow planted in a lawn, for the human shell is gone.I remember how I’ve sighed, thinking of my dad with pride.I’d sit on his knee (my ear to his chest, listening to him hum), And he’d give me his pennies for free.He would mow, I’d sweep, and then we’d have a snow cone treat.Poles, bait bucket, tackle box, days we spent fishing from piers and docks.Hair black like Elvis’, ears and features like Clark Gable’s,Stories of his oil company job at the dinner table.Fedora, big pleated trousers, a pocket watch on a chain,When I close my eyes I can see him again.I look in the mirror and see his eyes, staring back at me in heavenly guise.He didn’t live on to see me grown, or help me with the problems I’ve known.But his gift of life, and his gift of loveAre still here on earth with me, and guarding us from above.