Had you been a car,
it would have been
certainly
the brightest red
1955 Mercedes gullwing coupe
that fuel injected a gleam
into your eyes,

your two doors
opening gracefully upward
in cocked position,
raised arms
exclaiming this metallic wonderment
with glee

Sleek long nose, yours Norwegian,
the gullwing's generously extended hood, German,
wings one down-stroke
from air borne

like you, Dad,
suitcases stored by our open door,
embedded with oft folded maps
to places called
anywhere else,
over the next ridge
to the farthest side of here

Had you been a tree,
a Lombardy poplar
quick to grow
straight and slender,
pushing to heights
overlooking

seeking horizon's allure
and like poplars
eager to grow,
too soon fallen
from internal rots,
cells raging civil wars

Had you been a constellation,
Orion, great hunter
scanning our northern hemisphere,
your gliding pose
counting star-lit coup
toward flicks of white tail deer,
sighting in on elk
grazing among Oregon forest glens

Eastward
your keen gaze searches
Asian peaks and deserts,
trailing gazelle, ibex,
alert for yells, clicking sticks thrashing bushes,
beaters chasing wild boar

Had you been

a song
The Happy Wanderer

a dream
mine, the one where you are here long enough to gently rock my children

a bird
the one that lives to fly

07/26/2020

Posted on 07/26/2020
Copyright © 2023 Kristina Woodhill