Patrimonies

Suddenly, at dusk, I think, my father died a year ago.
I haven't missed him. We weren't close. An engineer,
A man who placed his faith in science and in math,
He always thought that things were clear, while I,
The poet, took them to be out of focus, unresolved.
I haven't missed him. Now, I look around, and see
My children gone. They're old enough to drive
Themselves, and, soon after the food is served, they
Go. Am I of use to them? Will they still want to
Visit me in thirty years? Do they see any point in
Pushing through the fog that seems always to circle
Me, or will they, after I have died, decide, after a
Year has passed, that they don't miss me, they don't
Often think of me at all?



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 61 times
Written on 2010-07-31 at 03:52

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