Saturday, October 1, 2016

Things My Father Touched

Touching things my father touched
Feels strange, but comforts me.

A walking stick he polished with his hand
Stands in a corner by my desk.

Hearing sounds my father heard
I think of how he struggled once,

Deaf in a lecture hall,
To grasp a teacher’s words.

Tasting foods my father loved,
Hot apple pie, black coffee,

Reminds me I’m as old today
As he lived to be.

©2016 John I. Blair

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