An Old Woman’s Memories of Her Father

the old woman sits on the park bench, alone
with her memories

most vivid, those from long ago
like in 1936, her father teaching her to drive

she still sees the dark gray ‘32 ford cabriolet
smells the black leather seats
and hears the sputtering sound of the engine
as the car climbs the steep hill near their house

fighting the tears, she remembers the ford
sitting in the garage, untouched for 3 months
after her father went off to the war
he never returned from

she still sees the chair, at the head of the table
where her father sat, empty
long after her mother died

now, she sits alone, remembering
small parts of her life, just before
darkness falls on the park bench
and death removes all memories

13 thoughts on “An Old Woman’s Memories of Her Father

  1. Thanks so much Floots, Soulless, Polona, Kent, Aurora and Dan for your comments. As always, they are appreciated.

    The last two poems are focused obviously on aging and how we see and cope with this reality.

    There is a fragileness and freedom that simultaneously overtakes us as we grow older and certain parts of our lives fall aside, hopefully making room for new things to grow–this life or the next.

  2. A most beautiful final, “final” line which effects, in me, both a sense of sorrow and a strange sense of wonder at the “newness” that (dare I hope) comes after death. A blank slate, perhaps, waiting to be rewritten on.

    Thank you. ^_^

  3. Your last two posts have been really wonderful. I found myself totally caught up in them. I’m not quite there yet, though the beard is turning gray and the body is starting to complain about getting up in the morning, but I so identify with what you’ve written. Both are really moving. Thank you.

  4. Wow, this is good! And I like the twist on this: an old woman remembering her father, as opposed to an old man revelling in memories, or an old woman having flashbacks of a life in general. Fathers are very important, aren’t they? Well done, Don!

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