Hour Seven, Inside Out


I held his large, gnarled hand
and knew unconditional love
and safety as I gazed
upward at my father’s face.

My well-being depended
on the strength of this one person,
reliable and unfailingly kind, his
lightly seamed face smiling down at me.

The years passed, and I grew,
child to adult, but Dad
remained my hero, always
knowing the right words to say,
embodying all that a father should
and could be, until the day
that he could no longer remember
my name, nor fully grasp my hand.

Now he smiles up at me, his heavily seamed
face still, in lucid moments, reliable and kind.
The past strength of this one person
gave me my own sense of eternal well-being.

I gaze downward at my father’s face
safely resting in his reclining bed
and feel unconditional love
as I hold his curled, and somehow smaller, hand.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *