This was father…

I said,
Reach!
Reach further!
Through the thick space and time
The continuum.
You can reach us!

But over the years,
He retracted his enormous hands,
He curled his index finger back
And turned
Walking thoughtfully in the flowering garden,
Touching the fragrant, yellow jasmine vine that I gave him on Father’s Day long ago.
Drifting away in thought
Back to his sailing days
As a younger man.

A few days later,
He would try again,
So aware of the time fleeing,
Rushing past,
As he slowed his steps,
And again,
He would reach through
Seeing us just there
Still joyous children.

Reach Dad!
Reach further! I called
We called.

Again,
He retreated his hand
And bent down
Swollen, heavy knees cracking,
To pet a newly adopted stray cat
His thoughts drifting back to his childhood farm
Back to the tractor he taught us to drive at twelve

Back to the old Chevrolet pickup truck
We thumped over in the dirt fields
Back to the grand woods he explored as a boy
The days rolling through in his mind
In vivid, glorious colors
And remembering the desperation to leave
To be free!
To live adventures far away from that tired farm.

Dad, Reach! We called nearly hysterical.
Try!
Reach.
He heard our voices
And rose
Peering longingly at the sky
Dad reach again!
Try again! We begged.

He stood
And leaned forward
With all his might he tried
He tried to hear us again
He tried to see us again
To feel our warm, exuberant hugs
But he was tired
He had lived one type of life
A fast life
A life shaken by the powerful hypnotizing culture
Drizzling neon curling lights
Shiny things and decisions and lost wishes
The boyhood tale two-car garage
Yard
Home
Flicked away like a cigar left out in the rain.

We presented new children
Ours
Sparkling, hyper, practically flying beings begging to be seen
Begging for a ball to be tossed
A chess game played
And when faces dropped to frowns
We said,
We’ve been trying to reach him for so very long
He cannot hear us
He cannot see us…yet.

And now
What captured his eye
Was the stars twinkling on
The cat meowing at him
And his second wife’s call to come on in
Comin’ he said
I’m comin’ in.

He glided his hand over the hefty cat’s head
And then tucked it into his jean’s pocket
My dungarees he called them with a grin
Walking slowly,
His knees aching, his ankles swelling
His foot dragging so slightly
Feet like bricks
And left the darkening light for the yellow glow of the kitchen
This midsummer night.

 

Raised on the edge of a tobacco field in making ravens tip their hat, K.D. attended La Sorbonne, AUP, and UNCW with an MFA from UM. She’s found in Broad River Review as a Ron Rash Poetry Award Finalist, Sunday Mornings at the River, Connecticut Bards, Fairfield Scribes etc. Insta@kdbarakat.