My Father's Hats Poem by Mark Irwin
My Father's Hats
Sunday mornings I would reach
high into his dark closet while standing
on a chair and tiptoeing reach
higher, touching, sometimes fumbling
the soft crowns and imagine
I was in a forest, wind hymning
through pines, where the musky scent
of rain clinging to damp earth was
his scent I loved, lingering on
bands, leather, and on the inner silk
crowns where I would smell his
hair and almost think I was being
held, or climbing a tree, touching
the yellow fruit, leaves whose scent
was that of clove in the godsome
air, as now, thinking of his fabulous
sleep, I stand on this canyon floor
and watch light slowly close
on water I can't be sure is there.
A very sweet poem that touches your heart. Trying to reach out to hold father's hat and the imagery of a pine forest, climbing a tree, touching the yellow fruit, scented clove - very well written. Enjoyed reading it. Mark.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 11:25:55 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Whiplash! I thought I was going to read a rather run-of-the-mill poem dedicated to fathers but instead I am presented with a masterpiece of writing! The stream-of-consciousness style of writing is my holy grail, the subtlety of the symbolism in this piece, the excellence of word choice- - it is all here!