My brother asked me
\nif I wanted our father\u2019s coat.
\nSurprised, I said,
\nYes!
\nWhere had it hidden all these years?
\nAlmost four decades,
\nand now I was asked,
\nbecause of renovations in an attic,
\ndid I want the garment
\nthat held my father\u2019s warmth?
\nThat visited,
\ntook walks,
\nwas laid across his bed
\nwith his scent,
\nthe rough texture of wool,
\nlike his unshaven face
\nin the morning.<\/p>\n
Then several weeks later
\nmy brother returned
\nand entering the door
\npresented the coat
\nwith the flourish of a magician
\nconjuring magic.
\nAt once
\nmemories flooded my mind of
\na slender, black-haired youth,
\nwith a Clark Gable mustache,
\nthat women found attractive,
\nholding the propeller of a biplane.
\nEagles flying over Cedar Point.
\nMy father in primitive airplanes,
\njettisoned over Sandusky Bay.
\nThe ambient odor of algae and fish.
\nThe damp touch of morning
\nat sunrise
\nas we pulled fish from the water.
\nThe whimsy of his poetry
\ntaking root in me
\nlike the drizzle of stars
\nturning on at twilight.
\nMy father turned avatar
\nfor me.
\nA little moon
\nin the embrace of a planet.<\/p>\n
I took the coat,
\nso neat it looked new,
\nin spite of repairs
\nthat marked its history.
\nIt felt so heavy!
\nAs if time had accumulated
\nin its fabric.
\nWas it the weight of the huge soul
\nin my father?
\nWas it the weight of life itself?
\nThe coming and going of hours,
\neach one a new horizon.
\nI could never see my father
\nas in life, so much as
\na force coming into it.
\nA tree with sun in its branches.<\/p>\n
He had the strength of two men.
\nA courage that was palpable,
\nan adventurous spirit.
\nHe was of those who flew
\nthe first airplanes,
\nand survived two crashes.
\nWas offered the first mail route
\nto Havana from the United States.
\nHe was also a man trusted
\nand liked.
\nWho never cursed.
\nSpoke well of others,
\na man of empathy and tolerance
\nand admired charitable people.<\/p>\n
The man who wore the coat
\nwas a singer of old songs.
\nA guitarist who played his Gibson
\nas if the instrument
\nwere a part of his soul.
\nWas an artist
\nwho painted pictures of sail,
\nand knew all the cords and knots
\nof the ships he rendered
\non canvas.
\nAs a boy cut great blocks of ice
\non Sandusky Bay for the city\u2019s
\nice houses,
\nand hired out to yachts as a crewman
\nto be with the sails he loved.<\/p>\n
A man who endured tragedies
\nhe kept to himself,
\nexcept for the windows and doors
\nof time, let open after his death,
\nsecrets of grief and despair.
\nA father killed when he was ten.
\nWho he spoke of with enormous love.
\nThe suicide of a girl he loved
\nand who loved him.<\/p>\n
He seldom displayed anger.
\nInnately kind he kept his temper
\nbut lightning can occur
\nin a calm sky, well before
\na storm. When aroused
\nby abuse of friends and loved ones,
\nhe answered only to angels.
\nWhen his son, and our brother,
\nwas killed in the horrific
\nblood letting of the Battle of the Bulge
\nduring World War II,
\na Nazi sympathizer made
\nan unguarded remark in his earshot
\nthat our brother\u2019s death proved
\nwho was better.
\nOur father then baptized every bone
\nin the fool\u2019s body,
\nand advised him during recovery
\nin the hospital,
\nto become invisible,
\nas long as he wished to live.
\nMy father understood and respected
\na higher power in the defense of
\nthe helpless and loved.<\/p>\n
What is a coat?
\nTalisman or nocturne.
\nVoices heard in the night.
\nA knock on the door of the soul.
\nWhat do I hear in a background
\nof silence?
\nMy father\u2019s calming voice
\nas he put a cool towel on my forehead
\nwhen I had flu and was burning up.
\nWho listened with encouragement
\nwhen I battled the vicissitudes of youth.<\/p>\n
The dimensions of life are complex.
\nThose my father possessed
\nwere rare and romantic.
\nHis eyes looking up from a cup
\nof tea loving and haunted.
\nMy life was embraced
\nby a man who seemed to have
\nmany lives inside him.
\nHe had a strange polarity.
\nNo true north or south.
\nNo magnus opus.
\nA life that seemed meant
\nfor someplace else.
\nA walk into the distance
\nwith a coat on that may disappear
\nfrom my closet. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
My brother asked me if I wanted our father\u2019s coat. Surprised, I said, Yes! Where had it hidden all these years? Almost four decades, and…<\/p>\n