This is a busy day, so I thought I'd do my blog while I stop by to let the dog out. The poem I am sharing today was written about my father and is in response to an assignment in a book called Writing Poems by Michelle Boisseau and Robert Wallace. The assignment is to consciously copy another poem. To write a poem in the same form as another poet. I have tried to find the assignment in the book, but alas, to no avail! If I can find it, I will give credit. Anyway, I thank the poet and the writers of the book for inspiring this tribute to my father.
Death of a Father
Died on a Thursday.
Died on a frigid Thursday.
Died on a frigid Thursday in a car.
Died in a car hurtling toward the hospital
On a frigid Thursday before he could see sixty-four.
Buried on a Sunday.
Buried on a bitter Sunday.
Buried on a bitter Sunday in the cold ground.
Buried on a bitter Sunday as his youngest
Daughter turned twenty-nine years old.
Mourned for years.
Mourned for many long years.
Mourned for many long years in the hearts of family.
Mourned for many long years as the lives of his family
Hurtled on toward their own frigid and bitter days.
Death of a Father
Died on a Thursday.
Died on a frigid Thursday.
Died on a frigid Thursday in a car.
Died in a car hurtling toward the hospital
On a frigid Thursday before he could see sixty-four.
Buried on a Sunday.
Buried on a bitter Sunday.
Buried on a bitter Sunday in the cold ground.
Buried on a bitter Sunday as his youngest
Daughter turned twenty-nine years old.
Mourned for years.
Mourned for many long years.
Mourned for many long years in the hearts of family.
Mourned for many long years as the lives of his family
Hurtled on toward their own frigid and bitter days.