Snapshots of my Father

Snapshots of my Father

  

Photographs of my father are few

and far between – tucked into albums

mostly absent of his presence

(he, working third shift 

through much of our lives).

Silent partner

in a loud partnership, still

his words (so very rare)

carried weight,

his silences spoke volumes

and we, in our innocence,

never doubted 

he would always be there

for us.

My recollections, spotty,

(mainly fragments of mornings

squandered in the garden,

an uncommon afternoon

 frittered away fishing or

perhaps rainy days playing cards);

even so I’m still taking snapshots --

seeking to preserve those patches,

scraps and snippets; to retain

whatever bits and bytes of him I can --

because we, in our innocence,

never once doubted 

he would always be there for us,

until one day

he wasn’t.

PSC / 2014

 You are missed, Dad.