MAP
# 84
Theme:
Father’s Day
1.
FATHERLESS by Jean Russell
You
won't find cards
in
the store for us --
the
children
who
are fatherless.
We
don't have a day
that
we await -
that's
named for us
that
we celebrate.
And
those with dads
don't
want to hear
about
our loss -
it's
what they fear.
So
we are quiet
and
walk away
when
gifts are bought
and
on display.
We
leave the room
and
wish in vain
that
Dan could come
back
home again.
But
he is nearer
than
you know -
he's
sticking by you
while
you grow.
And
in your life
he'll
play a part
because
he's locked
inside
your heart.
by
Jean Russell
Written
for Jeff and Andy Hight
on
the first anniversary of their father's death
2.
Legacy by Claibie Walsh
Riches
are not a matter of property,
But
memories of life, and life itself.
If
I hope to leave you with anything,
It
will be the images of
Our
quiet walks and contemplations,
Of
sunlight buttering its way through the canopy and fern,
Or
the way we looked to your mother and grandmother
As
we worked in the garden,
Or
fished side by side in the pond.
The
way we lifted our faces to the heavens
To
fly with the fowl as they crossed our scopes,
Or
followed the rutted, red, roads of our forefathers
Who,
like us, were also shaded by Oak and Longleaf.
When
I smile at you and take your hand in mine,
I
revalidate all of life,
Know
that it is a continuum, a celebration
Of
all that has happened before us,
Of
all that will happen after us.
I
will make memories of us, for us, my Grandson
And
for others who would take a part
In
all our lives.
©
Claiborne Schley Walsh
3.
LEGACY by Sam Hurst
My
father never found anything
lost
on the ground
because
he walked so proud and erect.
Now
my sons and I can't either.
s.a.hurst
4.
Letter from Dad by Cynthia Passmore
Wisdom
came through postage stamps.
Not
the verbal recognizance,
that
face-to-face discussion Fathers
have
with their Daughters
on
the flip side of their childhood.
The
delivery left me breathlessly awaiting the road map to my life.
I
loved you that much.
I
carried your letter in my wallet.
Creased
between years of wrinkled time.
Edges
worn by the changes of "fashionable" leather accessories,
and
even then, its message still stylish.
I've
changed wallets Dad.
Watched
my student ID
turn
into the Mastercard
of
buying power.
The
Account number so perfectly placed
sealed
my defection
into
a world you saw unfit for the likes of me.
You
dreamed steady pay,
I
searched for words that followed me
into
the night hours,
bleeding
into my pillow,
not
knowing how to please us both.
The
cost of postage is all I have left,
my
billfold no longer large enough for your letter,
no
matter how artfully folded.
Cynthia
Passmore