Everything Here Is Yours

When my Father died I wasn’t ready

To be an orphan, even at the ripe old age of 41

I wasn’t ready to make plans, shake hands

Nor to welcome the guests and listen to their stories

To choose the songs—“In the Garden” and “Amazing Grace”

Songs chosen selfishly, for they had no connection to him

Better choices would have been

“Lonely Teardrops” or “Under the Boardwalk”

The droning of a preacher who barely knew him

And had no idea about his state of grace

There only for window-dressing

Before the crowd thinned I found myself needing the woods and fields

Withdrawing to the land felt like sunshine

After two weeks of rain

With the world still wet around me

The weary songbirds arriving in the bright spring light

To gorge upon insects waking to the world’s new year

Neither feeling the weight of my loss

Later, in the gathering peace that comes

With slow-found solitude

Following the leavings of family and friends

I find, tucked away, in the drawer of his nightstand

A note to me in his own hand that reads

“I love you, son. Everything here is yours”

1-7-19

©2020 Lenny Wells