Sunday, March 30, 2008

An Ode To My Father

A man of complex simplicity,
my father lives
with strict routines.

Every morning he cooks
the same breakfast:
2 eggs over medium, yolks broken
on a plate heated for 49 seconds,
cinnamon raisin english muffin,
toasted and drenched in butter.

He keeps track of medications with
great care, and logs them with a
color code, filling page after page.
The pills sit in shallow, silicone cups
on his desk, like little powdery life rafts
drifting to sea.

But the true management of his physical pain
comes from prayer and humor
both of which he uses in abundance
and which give him
grace and dignity
unlike anyone else I have seen.

Though he is largely
confined to his home,
my father has brought the world
to him.
His office
explodes
with color,
from his own photographs of
flowers in brilliant hues, cascading
from every corner.

Emerging from my father,
the Doctor,
is a writer and photographer;
one who
knows how to fill his world
with beauty and in turn
enriches the lives
of those around him.

Thank you, Poppa.
Love, Elizabeth

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Very nice, Elizabeth! So much sweetness, warmth and love in so few words.

I'm happily remembering our visit with your father last November. Including his patience with a too-spicy dinner we served way past dinner time.

I'd still like to see bigger versions of your father's photos that are hanging on your living room wall. Does he have any photos up on his website?

-jeff

Noelle said...

this made me cry. i miss you a lot.