Comfort
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I tried to talk to him one Winter
when my mother was in the hospital
He was sitting in the parlor chair
taking a puff of his Camel cigarette
holding it firm between his fingers
like a half-eaten long pretzel,
you know the kind you could
buy for a nickel back then.
By the time I got his attention,
he looked at me and told me
it was time for bed, and would I
mind getting up early to put the
toys under the Christmas tree, my
brother and sister were still young.
I remember early mornings
the radiator in my room
would be swelting hot
and I could hear him downstairs
talking to my mother, the smell
of coffee, fresh and fragrant, my
father ru****ng around the house
He always
wore green khakis.
I dreamt of him taking me horse
back riding, his favorite daughter. He
would wear chaps and I would be
fancy in English velvet coats.We would ride
over meadow and countryside
only stopping to drink hot tea out
of his tall work thermos. Are you happy?
he would ask me, taking
off his cowboy hat and pulling at the ties
When I was a young girl, I imagined
my father reading me a story before bed
pronouncing each word distinquishly careful
plenty of time to talk to him and kiss him good-night
That time being my comfort, and he would be smiling
lmdelsanto
october 2005
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