From the files of Beverly Salonen, four years ago…
And a Father’s Day poem from my friend, poet Shirley Vogler Meister, columnist for The Criterion, newspaper for the archdiocese of Indianapolis:
PARK PROMISE by Shirley Vogler Meister
Father strolls, smoke dangling
cloudlike from strong fingers.
I run, skip, twirl on the walk
to Forest Park, where golden
minnows dance ‘neath waterfalls.
Pond-smells greet us and foam
froths on the pool. Quietly
we watch the fish scurrying when
playful pebbles disturb clouds
buoyed upon the water-mirror.
Dragonflies dart as father cuts
my angling twig, well stringed
but hookless: a fishing charade.
When I tire, we amble home.
"Traffic’s bad; take my hand."
We inch across, I in silent
fear midst screeching brakes
and whirring wheels. A siren
wails; a hospital looms near:
"If I am hit, will I go there?"
"You can’t be hit; you have my hand."
Trusting, I clutch it still
though he is gone.