Grandpa

Must have been back there somewhere,
don't you think?

A Card from Dad

A Card from Dad

The other day
while searching
for something unrelated,
I stopped to look at pictures
made so long ago,
and there I found,
a postcard from Dad.

Among long forgotten images
of Mum and Dad,
and me
when I was small,
eight as I recall,
was
a sepia picture postcard
from Dad.
On the front,
a picture of
the First and Last House
on that glorious British Isle.

On the back,
the writing faded,
was the message.
Dear Vi, it read,
I’m sending this inside Mum’s letter
because I do not want it spoiled.
Keep it for a souvenir of me,
Love, Dad.

Seeing,
holding,
and reading its message now
after so many years have passed,
means more to me, I think,
than it did
when I was eight.

My Dad … he was my pal,
and though he never said
he loved me,
never hugged me,
I knew I was his buddy,
but was I not his daughter, too?

Those simple words
across the years
tell me that,
despite his silence,
he loved this child,
but couldn’t voice the words
that would have meant so much.

Two years later
and far too young,
he was taken,
ravaged by
the cancer that took his mind
and made him crazy.

Now that I am old,
his words are strong
and clear.
I am his daughter,
always was—
Love from Dad

Vi Jones
©February 5, 2006

Of Ancestors

Lost in tomorrow
is the song of yesterbeen,
when I will foretell
of what I forgot to be
when I get another chance.

For I am right now
what I have always known,
but have been taught to believe instead;
and my father's father back unfold
must laugh at what could said.

For hist'ry retold
is as smoke unto the fire,
and ashes are nothing
compared with the warmth once shared
when I was taught to sing.

Look then to the mists,
my daughter, my love, my son;
for the songs we sing and joyful dance
still live in the soul's timeless view,
when all the words are gone.