Near-Sabbatical Elegy: a #tankaprose

Almost seven years

I still hear you telling me,

“grass is getting tall!”

whether backyard or kitchen

you knew how to work your space


The family still talks about the prime rib dishes you brought to cousin Lisa’s house Christmas after Christmas. Aquaintences I meet on the street still boast about your old restaurant. I still marvel at the deck you build after contractors mistakenly tore down our old one.


We had our differences. And our quarrels. Only you could get so implacably under my skin.


But you loved us in the best way you could. Perhaps you tried too hard–and saw only your own way as THE way to do it. But you did love us.


This near-sabbath of years later, I still miss you, Dad.


unvisited grave

the backyard is where I

find you the most

another mower ride

and there you are with me





for Real Toads Poems in April–the Tuesday Platform, imagined by Sanna

#GloPoWriMo2018 / #NaPoWriMo2018  24/30


NaPoWriMo 2018




8 replies »

  1. Frank, you hit a nerve with this one. My Dad passed out of this life last fall. Yes, we had our differences but we loved each other very much. He is still near, as is my mom, especially at places special to us.

    Liked by 1 person

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