|I open the bedroom door
at the little house on Daniels,
ease down the hallway
low voices—the radio,
maybe Bing Crosby, milky
light clings to the ceiling—
established this 1964,
all tinsel & lights.
Mother is wrapping a gift
in blue & green tissue;
she is smiling and young—
and there is my father, sitting
in the brown lounge, half-turned
away and no matter which way
I move, he remains undisturbed,
unmoving, a one-sided hologram,
among gifts & cookies and mother.
My right hand’s fingertips touch
the hallway mirror, and my breath
appears on it, a small fog, surface
tension only for a few seconds
until I pass, and now I’m gazing
out the window, across the street—
the morning snow glistens, the cold
encasing it like an eighth heaven,
sworn to the secrecy of ages.
in media res
Beautiful. Perfect. A tear or two crept out of my left eye.
Savored it while looking across a coffee table and through the tall windows of our snowless Chicago, while my mind floated to many scatterd Christmases Past...and hopefully many more future ones.
I pictured my own father sitting in HIS brown lounge.
One thing I questioned was the word "Hologram." I thought it may have been post out of date of for 1964. Maybe Non-existent a the time.
BUT...Googled it. Holograms were invented in 1962!
Great poem to carry through my day.
Sent me into ninth heaven!
Thanks for the gift.
|Beautiful poem Timmy
Happy New Year
Last edited on Wed Jan 1st, 2020 02:45 pm by Potabasil
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