Father

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His now trembling hand once struck us

As he was trained to do

Sally snaking from his waist

Rosary beads in pinching fingers

And his roar at a child’s transgressions

Leaving a door ajar or a light on in an empty room

Lessons from his own father and mother before

Memories pale with age and learning

Forgiven with his apologies

Better we recall sing-songs in our car

On the many long journeys

His thrill on blueberry hill

His scorn not his simplicity

And the giant who carried us

Who wrestled and ran with us

Not his fault but his training

He took the bullet with his gentle heart

Teaching us how not to be like him

 

Father to Luke and husband to Grace, Peter Nolan has had poetry, short stories and letters published worldwide. He has written a novel, two collections of short stories and two music albums.

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