Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Poem about my wife

Here is a poem I wrote about my wife. I am over come with love for her, and felt the need to express it.

Father’s Day at the Del Coronado Hotel, San Diego

L M

The ocean’s

breath

is muggy

from the water,

the waves,

and the sun.

You stand

with a black

waif-like cell

phone in the middle

of a gaggle

of Sunday tourists.

With one finger

in your left ear,

you call home. The one

finger is not meant to ignore

those around you, but to highlight

a far faint voice in your right

ear, as you say, "Happy.Father's

day." A hundred plus year old

hotel stands witness

as you greet the other.

Around us,

the voices of the famous

phantoms who stayed

at this Hotel are obscured

by the living

chatter,

and by a store-

bought folk singer

performing a set of

recycled old

Bob Dylan songs. I wait

my turn to speak. You gracefully

smile at his humor.

A retired lighthouse standing

on a far off cliff is in our

horizon. This light-

house became a museum

not too long ago. Below it

the replacement modern lighthouse

channels modern steel ships

past dangerous rocks.

Carefully,

you hand me the phone

to speak to your father.

I say thank you for this, his day.

I honor him for his gift and life and... The surf

adds rhythm to the families

loafing on the shag carpet sand.

Your father deliberates

about his barbequing

the perfect pork chops. Today,

he will host two

of his three children. I stand

with you, his second-born, thousands

of miles away. Yet, I can see him

in your flesh, your eyes,

and being.Grateful

for the warm day,

and the natural breeze,

we say good bye. His life gave

you your life. Freedom. Crossing

the threshold

of the hotel’s big

wooden entry, I look for our

future children in your eyes,

and I find your father’s

eyes. I rejoice

in our instant memory

being made. Love, there is

a breath that moves

through our time

together.

And our ancestors have

their share in the blood pulsing

through our veins.


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