Alphonse T Verschelden

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Obituary- Verschelden, Alphonse 2

In Memoriam
My dad, “Babe” Verschelden, died on Christmas Day 1991, one year ago. He was my “Gardening Partner” among other things. In honor of his memory, I share this poem with the “Star” readers who also knew him.
To My Father at St. Francis
I see half the side-porch is still missing
where the whirlwind ripped it away
and gray ghosts of floodwaters mar the whitewashed wainscotting along the kitchen wall.
Last night I slept in your bed.
The mattress, obviously contoured to fit your curves Swayed aimlessly on iron springs Like a ship in the midst of vast seas.
The north wind rattling at the front door shook me awake. Within the hand-chisled stones I feel your presence in this old house merged with your father
and your father's father.
At midnight the rooster crowed—
I went to check for possum, skunk, or snake Sleet bit my flesh: I drew my wrap 'round tighter.
On the rafters perched the Leghorn cock midst the flock. Nothing apparently amiss.
Sunrise was hardly here an hour
when the calves began to bawl
Bossy, the cow with the long horns, wanted milking Three sleek cats mingled prudently near the mangel From under the hayloft steps, hound dog emerged, yawned wide, and I saw the wolf-black mouth.
Now I sit at your desk near the fire
using your pen and paper
The scent of warm milk hovers above my hands Musty hay dust coats my windblown hair.
It’d be a lie to say I didn't enjoy filling in awhile pretending I was you.
But, come Monday morning
I'd like to go back to the office and brag
how Long Horns patiently withstood
unaccustomed hands pulling rhythmic streams white as my own pulsing heart and filled the vacant pail.

Joan Worrel

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