An Exercise in Perspective

Thirteen Ways of Looking at My Father

(with apologies to Wallace Stevens)

I 

Among many souls passed along,   

The only one moving

Was the soul of my father.   

II 

I was of three hearts,   

Like a child   

torn between three beloved stories.   

III 

My father buzzed through his days.   

It was a small part of his manipulation.   

IV 

My father and my mother

(were) one.   

My father and the other[s]

Are one.   

V 

I do not know which to prefer,   

The memories of my childhood

Or the mystery of innuendoes. 

The truth uncovered

Or just after.   

VI 

Words filled the infinite days

With stories of unknown verity.   

The shadow of the truth   

Danced around edges carved by elaborate tales.   

The full text   

an intricate machination

impossible to comprehend.   

VII 

My father of my childhood,   

Why do you imagine golden tales?   

Do you not see how the colors

infiltrate the world around you

blending—ultimately--into darkness?   

VIII 

I know your heart of justice

And the clear, inescapable beats of righteousness;   

But I know, too,   

That the lies are involved   

In what I know.   

IX 

When my father left the first time  

five days of vigil

one of many circles.   

X 

At the sight of his return   

Flying in a golden light,   

Even the doubts of a small child

Would vanish, simply.   

XI 

He found renewed life

In a fragile story.   

Once, fear of truth pierced him,   

But then clear honesty

Boldly embracing the lie as truth

XII 

Time is moving.   

My father’s life must be flying.   

XIII 

It was ending as it began.   

It was his reality   

And it was going to remain his reality.   

My father wrote   

the world he imagined he lived.