This poem. by Linda Dove, was part of the Tight Lines service by Richard Foust. It was read at the end of Richard’s talk.
How often nowadays do you look long at
that framed photo of your father on the dresser,
his young smile fixed on you and mother?
How often do you take time to imagine
his hand cradling you when you were born,
his hand tossing balls when you were ten,
his hand doing high-fives with you way back when,
his hand, as he aged, trembling, rough and worn?
Remember how he made you chop wood
for an hour when you skipped school or swore,
how he yelled Up to bed with you and don’t slam the door
when you fussed about your mother’s food.
Or maybe you recall the soft side of the man
the man who wept when the dog was lost,
the man who tossed and hugged your new born son
and told him his grandpa was his greatest fan.
And have you ever touched your father’s shoulder
and asked him what fatherhood has meant to him?
Have you ever sat down with him and told him
I love you and have loved you it seems for ever.
Linda Ankrah-Dove ©
June 2023