Tag Archives: death

Missing Dad

Missing Dad

Dad in hat, about 1949


A poem about traveling to Kentucky for Dad’s funeral.  Miss him!



December is leafless—

and the ridges south of the river reveal scars.

The snow resting on their flanks is dry and airy.

It slides off bony-shouldered outcroppings

like a thin hospital gown, and gathers in the folds

of the mountains.


We are following the rail lines south.

The rail lines follow the river.

The river follows the curve of mountains.

The mountains follow the corded veins of coal.


We drive into the coming night

following Father’s coffin home.

Lights flicker on in the coalfields.

Along the railroad track cracked coal,

as sharp as a man’s dying, await loading.


I trace these mountains against my heart.

They are old and crook-backed,

and as knotted with sorrow as my father’s hands.

I push my knuckles—hard—into my chest.

This night is overwhelmed by hush;

the faded hospital gown slipping,

the breath falling . . . and falling away.


Mourning the Passing of Poet Ruth Stone

Mourning the Passing of Poet Ruth Stone



Ruth Stone died.

You may not know her name.

She never stopped loving a husband hung by his own necktie.

Blind, and in her 90s, she dictated poems–

each dressed in weapons-grade plutonium

and the haute couture of grief.




And I mourn her passing.



Obit: http://www.legacy.com/NS/Obituary.aspx?pid=154740533

Some Poems (Including MANTRA):  http://www.thedrunkenboat.com/stoneinterview.htm

An interview with Ruth Stone: http://www.thedrunkenboat.com/stoneinterview.htm