My father’s name
immortalized in aluminum,
once rested on top of his mailbox
as a marker for home,
mail delivery, and gravel dust,
now hangs nailed to my library wall.
It is an odd thing to connect so strongly
to its metal silence when I am stuck
in the white noise of wordless, but
it challenges me to escape the chained
introspect my father lived in.
He walked more in his mind than
he did with his voice. The world within
boiled like a teapot without steam.
When silence smothers, I rebel with
a keyboard, conjure words
from the taped tongued persistence
I have nothing to say…
Perhaps it is my totem,
eight metal letters urging me to speak.
Comments
'...its metal silence when I am stuck
in the white noise of wordless'
which
'...challenges me to escape the chained
introspect my father lived in'
to convey something about your father:
'He walked more in his mind than
he did with his voice. The world within
boiled like a teapot without steam'
and yourself.
A man of few words but a lot going on in his mind. My grandfather was like that. Enjoyed your poem.
eight metal letters urging me to speak."
A great source of inspiration Susie
much love...
I have a table in my house made from a wrought-iron sign of the law office of my grandfather and great-uncle. I have never thought of it the way you have presented your father's mailbox sign but maybe I will try seeing it differently. Maybe something will come.
xxoo to you and your family.... M.