My Second Father Poem by elysabeth faslund

A boarder, during WW 2, rented a room at my granmothers house, and stayed....true story/poem...

When he laughed, it was Christmas and apple pie.
When he frowned, mountains tried to run.
When he softly said, 'Stop yelling at your daughter, '
Mother found something else to do, quickly.

For my 8th birthday, he gave me a dictionary.
For college advice, 'Read newspapers everyday.'
For my help, with his dream, the love of all growing things.
Knowledge of plants, trees, their ways, time...

He used an oxygen mask, years later.
He grew thin, then grew into shadow...
He and I never said 'Goodbye.'
Three days after, a 3a.m. June storm...

Ice cold air in his vacant bedroom, newspapers
Strewn across the room. Windows locked tight
Against monster winds outside. I stood at his
bedroom door, knew things I shouldn't have...

that he was telling 'his little girl' goodbye...
'Goodbye, Uncle Punt, you're here, aren't you...'
His oxygen mask, on the desk, fell to the floor.

I walked back to sleep, with his smile beside me...