Comfort

Comfort in a

Shadow


As time passed i saw my father
through the more detailed light of thinner eyes,
realizing who he really was and who he had been.

The earth bathes its way into the starlight of the universe
like my father cut a path into the bits of my life.
I did not know it growing up a self-indulgent person,
nor could i have, when the bits of my own life
were scattered.

I did not know him yet, other than as my father.
I could not complete a love until i searched for the end
of the path i myself had chosen.

The soul can hide a curious reality behind one's self-indulgence,
and our reasoning can zigzag through various paths
seeking a better reason, or a shortcut.

My father was a walking path cross-hatched by sunshine and memories.
I cut an enigmatic pattern across the hatches in front and behind.
He did not notice or care.

I pictured my father as in a dream
with a folded heart. arms outstretched, fingers to clasp.
His keen eyesight was overtly hawkish,
steadily pouring love into my tin-can heart.

Behind the minds abstract ideas
a straight stream of conscientiousness lies,
a beacon to the enlightenment from released pressure.
The soft touch of fortitude usually prevails.

I neared the end of my path in expected victory. cheering.
My father as a stone sat on the crest of a hill
his arms reaching like strings attached to the universe.

He whispered from the crest of the hill,
about seeing me unexpectedly on the same path.
My eyes grew thinner from the light rising.
angry. relieved.

My walk was staggered. My father's quiet but steady voice
dropped debris in the way of my walk.
These were spring buds i used to step on,
but now over.

His shadow obscured my path then vanished
and i stumbled off the way, finding myself at a rock
I sat. Heart open, arms stretching, fingers clasped.

Mark David Jordan, 2010