Father's Day

Driscoll Reid died 13 and a half years ago. This one's for him.

Father's Day

He taught me
how to put seeds in the ground
with a string for the straight row
a stick to measure the distance,
And watering, weeding and cow manure
to coax them along.

He taught me
how to take the guts out of a chicken,
Patient,
Trusting me
with a knife,
crop, lungs, liver
Ice water.
But I have forgotten
the necessary details.

He tried to teach me
algebra
and chemistry formulas,
the only time I recall
his impatience
directed at me.
I was
His baby daughter after all
And could do no wrong.

He helped to clapboard the porch,
working so cheerfully
with my friend Patti, the carpenter
that she has not forgotten him
to this day

He stained woodwork with me,
hearing, for the first time,
My pianist husband, playing
Over
and over
and over. . . . and over
a pattern of notes
Fragment of a Beethoven Sonata.
Finally understanding,
Finally
 Leaning his head against the window frame,
Saying
"Just let it go, Michael.
Just let it go."

He tried, and failed
to fix my washing machine
and sink
Connections dripping, streaming,
water on the floor.
After all, he was not
a plumber.
He took me
to  Maine to look at a horse, 
Ohio, to college,
Boston, for my Masters program.
Burlington, for restaurant equipment
And countless times,
to town, school, Chandler Music Hall, the cabin,
home.

He told me terrible jokes
that I still recall,
And laughed,
'til his eyes ran
and the bald crown
of his handsome head grew red
when I told him
my own.
He never could
ask me about difficult things.
Where I was last night,
What life was like, not driving, not seeing well enough to recognize friends.
Which injustices made me angry, and why.
How
I would manage without him.

 I remember him,
frail, bones broken,
in bed for good.
telling me he was tired.
In our last phone call.
I remember telling him
he had to do
what he had to do.

On that day
the bus was late.
I am so grateful.
I decided
To stop,
to give him a kiss.

Late for my own party,
Under the moon,
we sang "Angels are Hovering 'Round"
Geese, honking through the dawn
in the hours between life and death.
Then, morning sun on the valley fog
and my brother and mother
climbing the stairs in the sunlight
to tell me he had died in the night.

He is gone
with the chickens,
algebra,
plumbing,

But not the gardening,
the jokes,
the cheerful patience,
and the steadfast love.