Calling Out the Memories

Daddy porch
Calling Out the Memories
Nestled in the arm of the woods embracing its backside,
the old barn housed his tools and gave him space to tinker.
His hammers and nails, saws and drills still there,
Nineteen years after he turned his face to the light of a hospital window,
taking three breaths into himself before leaving us.
Forty years have passed since children played
beneath the tin roof covering the bean sheller and the steps
that lead into the place where he shaped baby cribs and picnic tables.
Near the end, he made small crosses.
Young children spent hot summer days twirling broken pine needles
or dried twigs in the sand funnels near the barn door,
calling out the ant lions with singsong lyrics.
“Doodle Bug, Doodle Bug, come for your supper,”
“Doodle Bug, Doodle Bug, your house is on fire.”
We believed the tiny, dirt-colored, backwards-moving larva
wouldn’t come if we didn’t sing.
When it finally came, we wouldn’t see him right away;
he pretended to be dead and looked like the dirt he hid in.
We stopped twirling and stared until a tiny pebble shape twitched a little,
scuttling backwards into the earth.
“There he is! He came.”
Outside the children played with sticks and bug-calling songs;
Inside the man made memories of benches and playful toys.
A wooden button on a string will twirl,
sing for hours when hands pump in and out,
like the wings of a butterfly before its first flight.
A child is told to be careful, not to let the string slip:
someone too close could be hurt from flying wooden buttons.
Leaving wooden buttons, benches, children calling ant lions,
his spirit seemed to lift through a narrow hospital window.
Perhaps he heard a lilting call above the earth funnels,
“Minton, Minton, come for your supper.”

Ptc
 *2007 winner of The John Robert Doyle, Jr. Prize, South Carolina Poetry Society

6 comments

  1. Ptc,

    While reading details in this beautifully-crafted script, I quickly imagine wonders of your father. This is award-worthy, and I know in your heart this man is award-worthy. You have a special gift–your writing. We, your readers, are gifted by your sharing. Thank you. People like you make this world a better place.

    Jan

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This is lovely and soul-touching throughout.

    It progresses so naturally, so vividly, that it is impossible to read it
    without feeling the connections shared, the love that lives.

    An absolute joy to read.

    Congratulations on the prize it won. It is well deserving of all accolades.

    Sarah

    Like

  3. Ptc,

    I’m rereading this tonight and enjoying walking your pathway with poetry as rainfall keeps a steady beat outdoors. This poem makes me feel safe & warm—with retelling of grand memories.

    Peace to you,
    Jan

    Like

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s