Tomatoes or Musings after Father's Day
I didn't call my dad for Father's Day. We have had a complicated relationship. It devolved into one where I did most of the calling, so I stopped. Here are two poems from an ongoing series simply called Notes for Dad.
Aug 18
I remember you through tomatoes
that touch of sugar saying summer.
Sliced with bread, soft cheese,
a tang of salt and bite of pepper.
June 16
The times that I think of you
a prefabricated regret
and knowing that we both waste
time, waste opportunity.
My dad will probably call on my birthday, then I will call him a month later on his. We've never made that relational leap to parent and adult child. The irony is that I have put so much work into the dissection of my relationship with my mother, largely ignoring that there's nothing more than memories where my dad is concerned. It's all very bittersweet.
Comments (5)
Oh, Sonya. I wish things were easier.
The tomoatoes look really good though.
Posted by Jen | June 16, 2008 4:06 PM
Posted on June 16, 2008 16:06
Yep, well, sometimes it's like that.
Posted by shula | June 16, 2008 9:25 PM
Posted on June 16, 2008 21:25
Though loss is immeasurable, I wonder whose is the greatest?
That thought comforts me when I see my mother incapable of communicating with her grandchildren.
Posted by Anna of Helylle | June 17, 2008 2:28 AM
Posted on June 17, 2008 02:28
I like your poems.
Posted by kat | June 20, 2008 10:08 AM
Posted on June 20, 2008 10:08
family is tough. especially parents.
(big hug) and xoxo...
Posted by kimchi | June 22, 2008 7:55 PM
Posted on June 22, 2008 19:55