With Dad Poem by Bill Cushing

With Dad



Gone and now cremated,
I wait for my sister
to meet me at his now-
once bungalow. Searching
through the remains,
sifting among clothes
he left behind,

I put on a jacket
hanging in the closet,
turn toward the mirror
on an opposing wall.
I see gray hair and a beard,
half a century old,
but below that,

the jacket swallows
the child: its shoulders end
at my biceps; the cuffs
of each sleeve brush
against my knuckles.
Blushing, I remove the coat,
turn back to the closet, and

return it to its rightful place.

With Dad
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Topic(s) of this poem: death,grief,old age ,parents
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
I wrote this while waiting for my return flight following my father's memorial. I am proud to say that this piece, along with 'The Ancient Flocks of Wilson Street, ' are now part of the 2015 anthology 'Getting Old.'
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Cynthia Buhain-baello 04 September 2012

The things owned by a lost loved one carry more than memories, the hidden meanings brought about by the jacket convey your deep affection and tribute to your Dad. Touching and honest write.

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Bill Cushing

Bill Cushing

Norfolk, Virginia
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