"MY FATHER'S A SONGBIRD"
It's Friday morning, I am painting Mom and Dad's bathroom.
Taping the walls with the door open, hearing only my
"Fathers voice."
The sealer primer numbs my four senses.
While in my birth home,
Memories and sounds come back.
When I was a child"Dad" "soared High."
With the Eagles caring me on his wings.
{Providing-Protecting us from harm.}
Embracing family-faithful-never complaining.
Working in a factory forty three years "Caged"
Edging the wall trim Father is repeating the same sounds.
"wiping the chipped Blue and White tiles, I realize.....
"My Father is a songbird"
Frail-small-wrinkled with Brown and white hair.
Today he is a Sparrow, sitting on the "Lazy Boy"
Smiling.
The morning Sun slowly transcends
Through a thick glass picture window.
I am rolling on the milky white primer.
Hearing Mother's grateful replies.
Answering each others calls.
She never tire's of Dave's voice.
Dad makes sounds that are "Gods Breath."
I feel the the breeze in the stagnant bathroom.
Painting I realize from the vapors.
Father is living by the moment.
Sitting across from Dad, he is grinning.
Saying same sentence .
Wanting this moment to never end...
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