My father stands on the beach,
Smokes his pipe and in rhythm with the surf, sighs.
In his youth, he was prankster, gladiator,
Mid life, lover, father, provider, teacher.
Now, as if in a universal child’s game,
He stands alone.
Surrounded by his sons and daughter
And their sons and daughters,
He stands alone.
Thoughts, perhaps, of another time;
Of mother and father,
Sisters and brothers,
Wife.
I stand close to the window and watch.
His eyes squint against the sun’s glare.
Looking out at the horizon, occasionally nodding to himself,
As if waiting for a ship, his ship, to appear,
He stands alone.
My eyes catch a reflection in the window.
I inwardly ask the question “who?”
And just as quick realize it is me.
No longer surprised, this trick I have seen before,
Yet emotion moves my mind and heart,
And I want to be beside my father.
Not to disturb his solitude, nor his memories,
Not to talk or walk with him down the beach,
Just to kneel down next to his feet,
Hug his knees and feel his presence on my cheek.
I love this man more than anyone will know.
But, unsure of his reaction to such an action,
I simply stand and think, asking myself life questions.
A futile exercise born from disappointment and despair.
Who can give me answers, no one I know.
I was a baby and then I was a child.
At what point does the baby become child, the child a man?
When does age stop beings something you wish to buy,
And once bought, what point is passed where returning is sought.
My father ends his vigil as the incoming tide laps at his feet.
He turns and with a slow shuffle, walks back.
Steadying himself, he knocks the tobacco from his pipe,
Climbs the steps, and for one last time today,
Turns, staring out over the waves.
Entering, he sees me at the window.
He whistles softly, pointing to the water,
“You see that shrimp boat, son”?
“Sure did”, I say, as he crosses to the bedroom for his nap.
My thoughts remembering him on the beach.
After all these years, I can still learn from him,
About useless unanswerable questions and the purpose of memories,
For I am a young man growing old,
No mirror need hang before me, to know,
Soon enough, a beach awaits me,
And I will stand alone.

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