Father
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.