Calling Hours

13 Oct

He had told me where to buy the car
then helped rivet sheet metal to places
Vermont winters had eaten the ‘73 Pontiac’s

floorboard.  It took two days in November,
our fingers so cold it hurt to get them warm.
All winter the car got me to the store

where we worked unloading trucks,
pricing, stocking, sweeping, mopping,
crushing cardboard boxes in the baler.
 
Tonight, in line at the calling hours
for my father, he meets my wife and children,
says he always knew I’d turn out good.
    
I can’t get over these faces, these people
I haven’t seen in thirty years or more.
They’ve adorned themselves with love

for dad and all the good he ever did.
They tell me stories of dad helping them
or his words they have not wanted to forget

and I am drawn to his reflection in them.  
The rust of death has marred our souls;
tonight there is help to patch the holes.

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3 Responses to “Calling Hours”

  1. shreyarvj October 13, 2014 at 3:06 pm #

    This is so strong. So very strong.

    • restorel66 October 13, 2014 at 9:02 pm #

      Thanks for taking time to comment, and thanks for the compliment!

    • shreyarvj October 13, 2014 at 10:13 pm #

      The pleasure’s all mine!

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