Sunday, 24 November 2013

What I Will Miss and Miss Already

The rough hands of my father,
the coarse voice of my grandpa,
my grandmother's scoldings,
my brother's embrace,
my sister's clear voice,
my daughter's laughter,
my wife's explanation
of the TV shows ending.
The smell of diesel,
the lights on the highway
at 4 a.m.
the snow covered road,
the creek cutting holes in the ice.
The German Shepherd's bold stance.
The Canary's loud song.
My cat appearing with
 a squirrel in her mouth.
My friends slight smile,
the way she touches my cheek.
The heat of summer
unfolding my body.
The cold of winter crunching
my face.
My old wood stove.
Sawing and splitting logs,
stacking neat cords.
Sandwiches and beer.
Kelly Myers, Brock Real
and Dustie.
Sue Ball, Uncle Greg
and George who slept
at the office.

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