This poem from Todd Davis is a prime example of the power of the unspoken, the understated.
—
Most of What is Written is Simply Grief
Three months
after his father’s death
he enters the woods
with his own sons
and walks the path
that rises above
the river.
Even after
they’ve climbed
more than a mile
they can hear water
on the hollow stones
below.
For a time
they sit, and he tries
to tell them
about the sparrow,
about the number
of hairs
upon their heads.
They say nothing
on the trek back
to the car,
and at home
they pick burrs
from their socks
and boot laces.
***
First published in In the Kingdom of the Ditch (Michigan State University Press, 2013)
Todd Davis has published several poems at The Good Men Project. Read more of his work here.
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Photo by Paula Fernández /Flickr
Thank you, Todd, for sharing your art here. I lost my father in 2004 and my son is now 17. I have ventured into the redwoods of California where I live, with son. We have taken in the grandeur and varied wildlife. And while we stroll through the deer paths, I think of my father. His spirit remains. I try to model the same fatherly love and presence for my son. Ironically, we say little driving home, too. But it’s a benevolent silence. A relaxed and pleasant drive back to the quotidian rhythms of life.
John, thanks for the kind words and for sharing your own loss. We are blessed if we have good fathers. The loss of these good men is difficult, but we are lucky if we have sons and daughters of our own who can help as we move through the grieving. I certainly understand what you mean when you say his spirit remains. I feel my father’s presence in my own life daily.