Pa

 

Pa

I stare at the two black and white photographs.
One a pinhole of a building I spent four years of my life in.
The other death brought back to life, a tree long ago cut down.
Both professionally framed.
Missing the man that took pride in them enough to display in his office.

Click, Click

The smell of Old Spice aftershave mixed with cigarettes.
Both faded over time.
A deep baritone voice lost to the winds of time.
Cuddling in big strong arms, one marked with ink of the Navy.
The feeling of safety and love, gone on the Ides of March.

Click, Click

My small hand, engulfed in his giant hand.
The Lord's Prayer falling from his lips.
I smiled up at him, repeating the words with him.
Squeezing his hand.
Him answering back with three squeezes, I love you.

Click, Click

I miss our patriarch, Pa, the glue of the family.
The man with a firm handshake, that always won.
“Always have a firm handshake, it’s how people will judge you.”
I warned my first husband and my second husband of the test.
My second husband passed.

Click, Click

Pa, always encouraging his grandchildren to follow our dreams.
Gave me my first advance camera, when I turned 18.
Replacing the borrowed manual camera from my father.
“You’re talented and have an eye for photography.” He told me.
It’s one of my few treasured belongings, though its use has faded with time.

Click, Click

I captured moments in time with that camera.
Family, friends, landscapes and events.
I sat on the stairs of a house built in the 50’s, looking over the banister.
I last captured a tender moment between him and grandma, Christmas Day.
Just a moment with a press of a button, he was gone three months later.

Click

By M.Bernstein

(First published in The Sandhill Review: Art & Literary Magazine, Fall 2023, by Adams State University.)