Friday, May 16, 2014
Fathers and Sons
The request resonated, I guess. Mortality has been on my mind for a while now.
My father, Ed Senior, was a quiet and generous old-style Midwest conservative who got caught up in WWII and Korea, and so made a best-of-a-bad-deal career out of it. Dad and I got along fairly well even though we disagreed mightily on Vietnam; he really only got angry with me when I mouthed-off too much to my more rabidly right-wing Mom.
Instead I wrote a new piece, brief and insignificant in any grand scheme of things, but which still attempts verbally to be both light and heavy, metaphoric yet
Sonetta for Ken Krummeck
Particles, burning, rise...
eclipsing their old orbits,
forestalling all the days
a family's grief forgets.
Charred constellations fall
through night's starfields of light;
apparent strength turns frail:
the universal fate.
We breathe, we speak some word,
each sentence ends in death;
a burnished soul remembered
will walk the ancient path.
Dawns break, and spent suns cool;
love, hard-earned, makes one whole.
* * * * *
This piece is published post #302 at the blog labeled I Witness. I'm mulling over options and pondering the future; you'll know more, reader, when I do.