My Father's Blindness
whispered when he had eyes,
deliberation of things,
songs, stories, a string of beads
some islander made in his equatorial days;
leaves, loaves, salad-making,
great roasts sizzling songs,
an unhurrying, yieldless time
of games, ghosts, gobs of things.
How when sentences finally came to be
he read Cappy Ricks and the Green Pea Pirates;
his eye on the page, my ear on his tongue.
Caesura was a bite of beer, a drink of cheese,
turning words like the roasts he made,
savory succulent tongue,
but page wordless now.
Now Time strikes!
Hurricanes, lightning, days are crunching,
night is no more a pail of stars
flung as sand on dark skies.
The eyes are closed, the mouth;
when do songs cease to sound?
Sprung from his loins wanting to be,
self-torn from his arms
at some piece of boyhood,
I now remember earless, wordless,
the touch when I was lovely young,
and I know I roam forever
in the darkness of his eyes.
Sheehan has published 7 books in the last 6 years: mysteries,
poetry, memoirs, short story collections. They include Epic
Cures, short stories in 2005, from Press 53 in Winston-Salem,
NC; A Collection of Friends, memoirs, in 2004, from Pocol
Press in Clifton, VA; and This Rare Earth & Other Flights,
poetry, in 2003. He has six Pushcart nominations, a Martha Albrend
memoir nomination, a Silver Rose Award from ART for short story,
and many Internet appearances.