The Innisfree Poetry Journal www.innisfreepoetry.org by David Lee Garrison
Overcoat
I wear my father like a handed down overcoat. It fits better now that I am old enough to know what is him and what is me. My hair is thinning in the same pattern as his; I do not accept it with his grace. His shoes are too big for me and our footsteps rarely coincide. He shares sorrow only with my mother, but joy— his own and that of others— with everyone. At commencement, I leave the other professors and vault over a railing in cap and gown to congratulate a student, just the kind of thing my dad would do. Copyright 2006-2012 by Cook Communication |