Your blue eyes
sparkled with a story
you wanted to tell me
about when you were a boy
in New Orleans
and dressed like a pirate
for Mardi Gras
or when you stole bananas off the boat
and the tarantula crawled up your leg
when you hid under the porch
to eat your stolen fruit
Then there was the time
you were swimming with your brother
a contest he always won
but this time the water mocassin
swimming beside you
added speed to your legs
and you beat your brother
and the snake
to the finish line
Once you met a pretty English girl
in a teashop in Cambridge
she allowed you to tag along
as she shopped with her mother
you continued to follow her
across the ocean and through
sixty-one years of marriage
Stories of men you worked with
camping trips and mountain hikes
living without much money
making toys and fixing things
how you cared for your tools
water battles and Brer Rabbit
all the memories crowded
behind your bright blue eyes
tumbled out in pieces
like mis-matched jewels, no order
to the bits you told me
during long evenings
or during dialysis
just bits and pieces strung together
along a shining cord leading back
through eighty-four years
I hold the stories in my mind
seeing not the places you described
but your face, your eyes,
remembering.
In loving memory of my father,
William I. Connelly
October 24, 1922 to October 8, 2006
WWII veteran, father,
grandfather, great-grandfather
and storyteller
Touching, loving - a realy sweet tribute to your father that tells about him as well. Ellouise
ReplyDeleteNot much to say but "so very well done."
ReplyDelete