That May

It's that time of year.

When I get out my bike.
When I ride all my favorite routes.
When I swing through my dad's old neighborhood.
Once more for old time's sake.

Five years ago,
My father was dying.
I moved into his house,
That May.

Every afternoon, while he napped in his chair,
I took a walk around his neighborhood.
"I'll be back in half an hour...
Call me on my cell if you need me."

I watched the trees leaf out,
The grass grow green,
The tulips and daffodils bloom and fade,
That May.

And I walked.
And I waited.
And I watched my father slowly leave me.

His house is now somebody else's house.
(They removed the bushes lining the front walk and built
strange looking retaining walls around the porch.)
His neighborhood is now somebody else's neighborhood.

And it's that time of year.

"Keep it simple."

Comments

[Amy McKenna]

Thanks for this.