Poems For My Father

I.

You used to sing a song
about a tree “with roots growing down to the water,
and leaves growing up to the sunshine.”
That was my honeysuckle childhood
song when your fingers lullabied on guitar strings,
when I learned about faith, trying
to hit the right notes and trusting
your voice would catch me.

You were my tree, planting
roots in sturdy soil,
lifting me to your shoulders so I learned to see,
and kiss the sun with chubby cheeks.
You are my caffeinated adolescence,
stirring raisins into my oatmeal, sweet
bursts of good morning love with a side of forehead kisses
and coffee. I studied the art of learning
from you. I discovered a cosmos of “Why’s”,
and made a game out of finding something you didn’t know.

You are my song, keys
tapping on a different kind of instrument.
Words about you come hard,
like trying to describe a child’s smile the first time,
or the way the ocean salt water soothes
the rawest places in my heart.
How do you describe a song  whose intricacies
only you can hear?
You are my lullaby, my mixed tape, my wedding march,
you are my soundtrack into adulthood,
playing behind one a,m. conversations,
tinkling in the chime of beer bottles clinked together,
the hum of the truck as you drive me to work.

Tree songs for you,
love notes scattered throughout the branches,
whispering softly in a late summer breeze. I am home
with you, the hummingbird who has flown across seas
to find her place again.