Daddy, with your ruddy complexion,
which I found
only after your passing,
in a description by the US military
of a young private, an official account
of rising the ranks
only to be torn down
due to questions of honor,
loyalty and honesty.
Daddy, the picture I carry of you
younger than me,
thin faced and tight lipped,
whitewashed by the cellulose
of time, by my memory
of you ordering a book which said
our family crescent was British
and working in an office
which bleached your complexion.
Daddy, only in dying could you tell me
I was Italian, through Brooklyn,
through Ellis Island,
part of an immigrant tradition;
your love of opera,
adoration of the Dodgers,
the secret sauce of your lasagna,
all of it passing in that last gasp
to your son through pale lips.
–
email: PoetryPoemPome@mac.com
phone: 70 425 Poems
Hi,
What a nice blog you have created! I really enjoyed this post. It is so nicely written. I’ll keep coming back to see what else you write
Wonderfully touching poem. Universal in its ability to make us all recall our fathers.
that such a nice poem you have talent