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.
