It was twelve years yesterday
since my father passed away.
Light bulbs flicker off and on; I
can’t see him, but he’s not gone.
He loved the mysterious things
in life, the quiet and private jokes
with folks, the things we cannot see—
Twilight zone moments put that
twinkle in his eye—the unexplainable
is what made him smile. He would
notice word-play and the deeper
humor in things, like The Far Side,
puns found here and there, or
humorous acts of God, the
journalistic juxtaposition of
oddity with oddity, even a hint
of mystery. He was open, and
he opened his heart to me.
Light bulbs flicker off and on;
I cannot see him, but he is not gone.