starry sky, image by Vahid Kanani, on Pixabay
Breeze Blowing Freely
He freely rustles
a gentle wind through me,
soothing as the fall,
refreshing as the new spring.
I remember the night:
I found Dad in his darkened bedroom,
kneeling at the side of the bed,
arms slung on top the covers,
his khakis the only bright thing
in the sudden burst of light
from me opening the door,
his face buried on the bed,
rosary wrapped around his hands.
Dad didn’t hear me open the door.
Heart racing, I backed out slow.
Noiseless, I closed the door.
Upstairs with soft tread.
Climbed onto my bed
At the high window,
all the stars
in the western sky
lit up the night.
Phil Flott is a retired Catholic priest.
His work has recently appeared in
Time of Singing, Mulberry Literary,
Academy of the Heart and Mind,
Sangam, and others.