Three Poems on Her Father, by Sally Cook

Heritage

I like to say I’d an Egyptian father
If that is too obscure for you, I’d rather
Explain it just by citing preservation.
They preserved mummies, he his indignation
At how the world had gone awry, once all
Ethics, society had gone on stall.
My father then stepped gingerly among
Past trophies that his ancestors had won.
Hoping his prayer and reverence sufficed

He kept his world on track, but when it iced
Outside, you could not see the dated rocks
He placed beneath his trees and hollyhocks,
Each one a past indignity he buried
Within his boundaries. Although he was harried
By slings of life interred within his yard.
At least he had contained them. It was hard
For him, to live without what used to be–
His venue, and then have to deal with me.

A Violinist Reclaimed

Before self-righteous rules, brash and insistent
There was a natural rhythm, quite unspoken
So when my father hired an assistant
Traditionalist, he followed this, unbroken.

He brooked no power structure interference
No lying resumes or false confessing
To quasi-moral snoops. He just made sense
And went on instinct, and John’s salad dressing,

Which proved to be quite good. His violin
Then raised the bar for father on John’s score,
And entertaining tales that he could spin;
Confessing that he drank made even more
Sense. But when John said, inebriated,
He’d fallen on his violin and spun
Across the street, my father celebrated–
Exclaimed in joyous tones You are the one!

A kindred spirit hired, and in spades!
They worked together well for some decades.

The Holland Road Pines

Long rows of pines my father placed
On Holland Road are interlaced
With what he knew. I see them there;
He cannot know my backward stare.

I sense his purpose here. I read
His poetry, perceive his need
To leave a mark, that we may know
Time moves, although it is so slow

We barely know it takes us where
An aging footstep on a stair
Speaks volumes of the speed of night;
I see his trees, in fading light.

Published originally in Trinacria

A former Wilbur Fellow and six-time Pushcart nominee, Sally Cook is a regular contributor to National Review, and has appeared in venues as varied as Chronicles, Lighten Up On Line, and TRINACRIA. Also a painter, her present works in the style known as Magic Realism are represented in national collections such as the N.S.D.A.R. Museum in Washington, D.C. and The Burchfield-Penney, Buffalo, NY.