Inspired by my great-grandparents...

Father Marston
born silent, you came
prepared to listen
all soft and shiny like an
unattached earlobe
ready to be pierced by the lifesongs
of your fellow man
Childhood was a fire drill for you
Run, crouch, wonder a moment,
then gather your books and head
squarely into manhood
You went from heart to heart
learning its country
knowing its threats
leaving balm and bandage
or wide open wound
(whichever was more necessary)
without judgement of God
or guilt of you
You've spoken in tongues that have
yet to be written
You have walked through mudslips
that still bear your print
And you remember your mother
at odd times it seems
Red haired and weepy
wishing you well
trying to tell you that
the time she spent with you
made poetry rise up from the
folds of her throat
Do not, in your old age,
look back in doubt
as if your steps could be
windwashed or casually retraced
Men have died never having looked further than
the ends of their own noses
unaware of others
unable to understand
sacrificial living
Unwilling to live for
a truth that doesn't require them
whose thunderous meaning
your eyelights
now quietly compose
Breathe, Father Marston
and exhale sweet dust again
before you climb the golden stairs
to where the only word is Life
and you will speak it forever