February 9: Mount Rushmore, Sharon Olds, "His Stillness"

Strange.  I have been looking for pictures of my dad on my cell phone.  I found one, taken at his 90th birthday party this summer.  That's it.

I'm not sure if that is my fault.  He was more than willing to pose for pictures.  Yet, out of over a thousand pictures, I found exactly one good picture of my father.  Maybe I just assumed he was always going to be there, like the Grand Canyon or Mount Rushmore.  Sort of permanent and immovable.

I was wrong.

A poem from Sharon Olds tonight about finding your father in yourself.

Saint Marty is still searching for his father on his phone.

His Stillness

by:  Sharon Olds

The doctor said to my father, "You asked me
to tell you when nothing more could be done.
That's what I'm telling you now."  My father
sat quite still, as he always did,
especially not moving his eyes.  I had thought
he would rave if he understood he would die,
wave his arms and cry out.  He sat up,
thin, and clean, in his clean gown,
like a holy man.  The doctor said,
"There are things we can do which might give you time,
but we cannot cure you."  My father said,
"Thank you."  And he sat, motionless, alone,
with the dignity of a foreign leader.
I sat beside him.  This was my father.
He had known he was mortal.  I had feared they would have
to tie him down.  I had not remembered
he had always held still and kept silent to hear things,
the liquor a way to keep still.  I had not
known him.  My father had dignity.  At the
end of his life his life began
to wake in me.