Sunday, June 19, 2011

remembering bOB

Yesterday was your birthday. Today is Father's Day. Missing you terribly. And trying to deal with it the only way I know how: writing.

Father’s Day

for R.E.B. III, 6/18/65 to 8/30/10

The blue pen flows, the gospel radio brays.
This day is different from all other days.
No mass, no kaddish, everything's been said.
We’ll plant a young tree with the kids instead,
right near the playground. Now we say Amen.
It’s bluegrass now. A love we shared. I met
my fiddle hero at that festival,
your gig. He died just two years later: old,
a lifelong smoker. You were forty-five,
ate vegetarian and rode your bike.
Six-two, one hundred sixty pounds of brawn.
I wonder if they’ll miss me when I’m gone—
the dobro twangs, the banjo taunts my ear,
the upright bass is—well, upright. Too clear.


Jessica Lemmon said...

Beautiful, Amy.

Zohra said...

This is beautiful and so touching. Thank you for sharing with us this moment, this life, this breath.

Anonymous said...

Deep sigh and a few tears, knot in my throat and glad tomorrow is another day for you all.

Sharon Dolin said...

Just read your poem. What a moving and beautiful tribute to Bob. Be strong, girl!