Simone, woman extraordinaire; –
your poetry speaks volumes. I will post one here
with love, respect and admiration.
For Chandler
1.
Shoulder ride,
under fat maple leaves.
Grabbing his hair in my fists,
I see the world dappling.
My father, sturdy, easy with the heights
brings me to this flickering,
this light and shadow.
2.
From prison,
Daddy sent us each a picture.
I got a bunny.
Wordless, soft, sniffing .
3.
We learned early. Sometimes you may have things taken away,
be sent to live elsewhere, be branded unclean.
But everywhere others are branded and stranded too:
be sure to help one another.
4.
Dad sits down to play the piano. Now, like before,
he graciously allows me
to discover him a sentient being,
alive, making his way through.
Thereby he taught me to tinker,too, for the hell of it,
to notice things, and to love.
5.
Just standing in the kitchen,
hands on hips, a towel draped
over my shoulder, between thoughts,
suddenly I am my father. How fondly the genetic wave
surges us along: I lose myself
in a moment of stillness, to find myself
at rest in my father’s pose.
by Simone Weil Davis
1993