The sound of women hidden… p.307 Collected Poems, by Jack GilbertThis little poem is dedicated to my dad. His nickname was ‘Doc’ and he was a man full of secrets. A man’s mind full of disappointments as well as unpeaceful resolves, he molded what words form and secrete out of me. He is my biggest destroyer. He is my biggest kind of king. He is a man I will never know. He made a thing that blossomed into this….a woman unknown to breath.
My Dad was NOTHING ever-
more than a uniformed delivery man.
He should’ve perfectly stayed faceless.
It’s mindfully unfortunate he did NOT.
I would’ve MUCH rather settled with-
in the subconsciousness of his testicles.
The final END dots pause-able depth
as an oxygenated calling emits.
A poem for a Poet’s palm
aligns stacco-rough life-lines to cross
A mortal’s death LAST marked breath
as my dad begins a maker’s pace.