Genesis of Belief

October 08, 1991|By Barbara M. Simon

Ten years ago today Daddy died.

October when more than leaves turn.

When gray mists weave over fields

of browning corn; when milkweed

bursts and squat pumpkins grin

ferocious benedictions from porches,

and lovers walk under buttermilk skies.

Sorrows red as leaves turn in me,

ghosts of all that's gone. My father

over six feet tall and blond, big

and laughing, kind hands holding me,

a book, his mandolin, his faith

deep as October's shadows.

He taught me to love autumn

when there are no promises, when beauty

of red and gold, amber and blue remain,

All we have to enrich us, to let us be.

October turns and I turn into a woman,

turn into my father, blond and laughing,

kind hands holding my child, a future.

Look behind my eyes, dying green

like October grass. My history,

my dreams turn like the leaves

and fall. And in their fall,

I find my faith.

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