My work of trees,
photos of dead standing roots
to outstretched empty branches
foretold the passing of my father, my friend, patriarch and believer not of another life
but of legacy.
The present will be the past, the future the present.
We stand as he passes, the next ones to go,
wanting not anymore of his wealth of goods,
but only of another moment,
holding hands on knee, sharing tea,
musing of the chickadees daily dipping
into the copper watering can.
Comfort, gladness,
thankful for the last few years
of his being alone in his house, always his house,
but her home of her making,
for the objects and arrangements inside the shell.
Alone from her, he became more with me.
It was necessary to establish me, now
but then let this go.
I miss and will miss
forever those quiet small times,
Sunday mornings,
just the two of us and the dogs.
Tears to your passing.
Say hello to Mother.
Be joyous in what comes as it,
to you,
would have been the unexpected.
May I see you
in another life-time.
2007 l Catherine Eaton Skinner