|My dad in his office, mid 1980's|
Is that you?
It is Tom Clark. Not Dad.
joking commentator on
takes me right back
to my mother's bedside
listening to Chapter a Day
falling into nap.
This man is not my father,
nor the next, a guest on Jean Feraca's show.
I look out the window at the crocuses
just now popping up in my late-blooming
yard. Twenty-four years ago
these bloomed in my mother's shade
mid-March, the day Daddy died.
Now it is late April,
two hours south
and I am still searching for his voice.
I put in another cassette. These are
promising - Maxell from the mid-80's
and the shows are ones I know
they listened to together.
I listen to silence, silence, silence
90 minutes of it on each side.
I am rapt with anticipation,
dread. The last time I heard Dad's voice
I was in my teens and accidentally found
him yelling at the end
of a radio recording.
Here I am hoping I will find his voice.
Hoping I won't.