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Blue Shirt


Every Sunday for forty years, my father
would choose the same blue shirt
to wear to church.
The cloth faded and grew thin
and some of the buttons
went missing.
(You’d think he had no money.)
Almost as an afterthought
he’d put on a tattered tie, then walk
two blocks to the Methodist Church.
Easing his bony frame down
onto the unpadded wood pew,
he’d wink and say, “I’m sure the Lord doesn’t care
what I look like, but only that I’ve come—
and here I am.”
Now, six weeks after his funeral,
I hug his empty blue shirt
and long to hear him say once more,
“Here I am.”

 

Poem © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
NOTE: This poem is almost entirely the product of my imagination. Any resemblances to my own life are purely coincidental.
 
   
More Sunday’s Whirligig #151
   
More Midweek Motif at Poets United: “Money”

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Choosing

Photobucket
Footprint in a sandy wash, Apache County, Arizona
 


choosing a new path
before the wind can erase
yesterday’s footprints

 
 
Haiku © 2016 and photo © 2011 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
More Haiku Horizons: “Choose”
 
More Midweek Motif at Poets United: “Path”

Way

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On the shore of Upper Lake Mary, Coconino National Forest, Arizona
 


ancient fir forests
or lakes high in the mountains—
the way chooses me

 
Haiku and photo © 2016 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Blue Monday
  
More Our World Tuesday
 
More Haiku Horizons: “Choose”