His mother named him Carlos, such a strange name for a Welshman. Perhaps she loved Spain.  I said goodbye  by a bed near a window  deep with winter.

 

Muscadine

Summers heavy cloak hung

over fields of Goldenrod,

their long limbs reaching

out to mesh with spiky

leaves that sheltered

bundles of marmalade florets.

 

Their invasion of the meadow

met with merciless machetes

that hacked through  unwelcome

invaders who hadn’t the courtesy to

extend a pleasant fragrance.

 

The trail led to an arbor nestled

in a stand of trees to a brook

trickling lightly through a trellis

where never ending appendages

wound and weaved through a

dense clusters of bulbous

translucent nipples

clinging tenaciously to their host.

 

The scent of peppery earth stung

our  nostrils and attracted white tail deer

that ravaged the vines of their treasure.

The old man snaked a garden hose through

the lattice to frighten them, a guise that

worked only to frighten astonished lovers

lingering at fertile ground, a sacred rendezvous.

 

Soon the clammy dragons of summer

breathed their fiery breath and

the skin of the luminous fruit burst

with the sweetest nectar and the old man

declared them ripe and ready to harvest

by means known only to himself

and his son.

 

Ruptured with a pestle and filtered

they were processed by their secret method

and stored in ceramic jars.

Sweet and crisp, underdeveloped

but heady and pleasant.

 

Rarely did my father materialize

from his travels once I had been

delivered for the summer,

somehow harvesting  the grapes

invoked his presence like a lark at dawn.

 

 

vitis rotundifolia

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57 thoughts on “in memory of my father

  1. A wonderful tribute to your Father dear Holly.. I had a smile at the garden hose and those unsuspecting lovers lol.. 🙂 Such a beautiful poem, that had my senses visualising all that was written.. 🙂
    Sending huge hugs your way Holly.. xxx ❤

    Like

  2. This was such a loving tribute to Your father! You had me with these lines – “I said goodbye by a bed near a window deep with winter.” This was such a wonderful word picture of a young girl’s memory of her father and his passion! I’m so glad Your memories live in Your heart, still! Amazing the things we remember after our fathers pass.

    My Dad’s birthday is tomorrow. He would have been 90. So, do You remember Your Dad’s stories of when he was young and growing up? I have such a wonderful memory of the last time I saw Dad “A Special Time with Him” on my blog. I just have to play The Old Rugged Cross on the piano. Thanks so much for sharing this and bringing Your memories of Your Dad to us! So Beautiful and touching.
    Chuck

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much Chuck. Your father sounds like a wonderful Dad. My Dad was detached to a good extent after my mother died when I was eight , I spent a good deal of time withy Grandparents and will be eternally grateful
      For their love and attention and sacrifices. I’m glad you enjoyed this poem, I will be over to read your poem about your father.

      Like

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