People, Personal, Poetry

In His Shop

It’s Father’s Day this weekend. Many years have passed since I was able to wish my dad a happy Father’s Day in person… he died in 1975. But he lives on in memory, which grows more haloed as time passes.

He was a quiet, kind, hard-working man. Very creative too, always fixing things using the materials he had at hand. The poem below celebrates that aspect of him.

I miss you, Dad. I would love, love, love to hear you play your sax again, then sit and have a talk.

Dad, playing his saxophone.

In His Shop

In his shop Daddy improvised
like a jazz musician.
Virtuoso of rivets, solder, screws
he repaired hinges with leather
lengthened a steering shaft
for the tractor-drawn binder
braced wobbly chairs with welding rods
reincarnated metal seats
into lawn furniture.

Lightning from his welder
like brain synapses
crackled creations into being.
Pounding hammer
tapping chisel
whining file perfected
riffs of leather, metal, wood.

© 2004 by Violet Nesdoly (All rights reserved)

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