Father’s arms embraced my Mother,
held me as a baby, lifted me as a toddler,
picked me up when I fell, carried me when I hurt.
Father’s arms steadied my bicycle,
taught me to throw a ball, spanked me when needed.
Father’s arms drove him to work,
steered a tractor, maneuvered a lawnmower.
Father’s arms moved me to and from college,
into an apartment with my bride, into our new home.
Father’s arms worked with wood,
inlayed leather tops, created beautiful things.
Father’s arms moved him, holding a cane,
pushing a walker, propelling a wheelchair.
Father’s arms quivered holding a cup,
trembled when he no longer could hold me
over for my Mother to do wound care.
Father’s arms climbed to Heaven today.
My name is Michael Williams, and I post as Boardflak at http://thepeacefulpub.com/ where I am one of a group of poets. I became a quadriplegic at the end of June 2015. I have continued my writing using voice recognition software.
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Wow Michael! That was simply beautiful (perhaps bittersweet) all the way around. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you very much. This poem was printed with my father’s obituary in the local paper, included in the funeral program, and read during the service; none of which I anticipated when I wrote it.
When I posted this over on The Peaceful Pub, I added three photographs of chess boards he made using wood and leather.
Michael