Pudgy Indian

DAD

I carried beauty in a cup,
but like seagul and the sun
such gifts are not mine
to hoard
and I pour beauty
accross the asphalt streets
concrete sidewalks
houses of the people
and homeless
over hills and trees
through streams
rivers oceans and across the sky.

Driving down Marine Drive
I remembered my dad
during a particularly cold winter
driving me out there
and we stood on the banks
of our river
Che Wana
Dad, without a coat
four fingers of each hand
shoved into the respective pockets
of his blue jeans
thumbs jutting into the cold air
as we stood on the levee
protecting the airport
on the flood plain.
Huge chunks of ice
mini icebergs
were floating silently down the river.
I don't remember any words of wisdom
pouring from my dad's lips...
Sometimes...you just don't need words.

I splashed beauty across the mirror
and ran away laughing.