2014 - The Rhapsodist

Page 55

He will teach me how to throw a baseball High up into raw autumn branches of the walnut tree, Knocking down fat ripe walnuts and smashing them open Letting them stain our hands. Later still, I will walk over this spot, away from the house, Carrying a battered airplane bag And he will watch me from the porch. The time ahead of us is in flux, expansive and bulging with every possible future, A drop of hot wax yet to be cooled and hardened into shape, Into small droplets of memories. The past is gone, But I remember how my father smells.

54


Turn static files into dynamic content formats.

Create a flipbook
Issuu converts static files into: digital portfolios, online yearbooks, online catalogs, digital photo albums and more. Sign up and create your flipbook.
2014 - The Rhapsodist by Asheville Buncombe Technical Community College - Issuu