1926-1999
by Kelley White
My Father at Ten
Has a big brother
They camp
They learn to tie knots
They have a loyal dog
They want to learn to fly
My Father at Twenty
Is a veteran
There is gray in his beard
He has forgotten boy scout
Knots
He is not a man
Though he looks like one
My Father at Thirty
Has me
I am a small baby
Loud
He holds me like I am a piece of ice
Melting
Slipping
Through his skilled
hands
My Father at Forty
Needs the sound
Of running water
Of wind in birch leaves
He flees
A house of argument
I follow
To the edge of the yard
My Father at Fifty
Fit
Tan
Lean
A tennis racket held steady
Before his knees
His hair went white
When?
And when did his legs start to hurt?
My Father at Sixty
Is sick
He cannot take his grandchildren fishing
He cannot sail his little boat
He cannot hike or camp or run
His hair is white and thick
We call him Grandfather
My Father at Seventy
Keeps the shades drawn
He watches tennis matches
From one side of the couch
In the dark
His cat
Sits beside him
Sometimes he remembers
Her purr
My Mother at Eighty
Alone
Even the cat has died
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Pediatrician Kelley White worked in inner-city Philadelphia and now works in rural New Hampshire. Her poems have appeared in journals including Exquisite Corpse, Rattle, and JAMA. Her most recent books are Toxic Environment (Boston Poet Press) and Two Birds in Flame (Beech River Books.) She received a 2008 PCA grant.
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© 2011 Kelley White