Tulsa, a place Mom and Dad lived for a short time
Where Mom died, now twenty-two years ago
Where Oral Roberts preached
And broadcasted his ministry to millions
Including Grandma Secrist
Who faithfully watched his sermons during the 1950s and 1960s
On her old black and white Philco TV
That flickered hope into her life on Moore’s Run—
That sad and forgotten Eastern Ohio holler
Where Mom was born, and
A long way from Tulsa where she died
Tulsa, a place I’ve visited many times
Since Mom’s passing and Dad’s moving
To help the Cherokee Indians
With various plans and studies
Tulsa, a place I left this morning
Troubled about my Dad
Who lay dying in a bed in Tupelo—
Where he has lived out his last sixteen years
All this flashes into my mind
As I sit in seat 16F
Of a Continental flight from Tulsa to Houston
On my way back to Cleveland—
The place I call my home
From my plane window
I watch the sunrise spread across the eastern sky
Searching for answers
To life’s biggest questions—
Those questions each of us faces
In our own way and time
There is no question Dad will die in Tupelo
As Mom died in Tulsa
No real need for an answer to that question
There is no question—
That someday I will die
And so will you
Yet, all this seems so hard to accept
As I look down on Tulsa wondering why
Poetic Alchemist 