Talking To My Father Whose Ashes Sit In A Closet And Listen by © Lisa Zaran
Death is not the final word.
Without ears, my father still listens,
still shrugs his shoulders
whenever I ask a question he doesn’t want to answer.
I stand at the closet door, my hand on the knob,
my hip leaning against the frame and ask him
what does he think about the war in Iraq
and how does he feel about his oldest daughter
getting married to a man she met on the Internet.
Without eyes, my father still looks around.
He sees what I am trying to do, sees that I
have grown less passive with his passing,
understands my need for answers only he can provide.
I imagine him drawing a breath, sensing
his lungs once again filling with air, his thoughts ballooning.
First off, my apologies for not visiting anyone’s posts as I would wish to; my free internet time is consumed, at this point, with A365. Each night I try to look at every single photo posted – the average is 100 people joining each photo event – and giving words of encouragement to every one of them. It is a joy. It is a challenge. It is rewarding.
Second, today’s theme was Things in Your Closet. After a long day at work and what seemed to be an even longer time at the movie theater to see Le Mis (hated it and left at the mid-way point), my quiet house did not invite rummaging through the closets. The handle of my skirt/slacks closet presented itself, gleaming brightly and, if I might say so, almost preening as if to say, “Look at me! Look at me!” And so I did!