Remembering Dad at Christmas time
“How ya goin Doora?”
That was dad’s love name for me
Poet father of a poet
The family trade
But that’s just the surface
He was a stronger force
An incredible singer
Of rebel ballads
My education in the arts
Was, dad advised,
To “become the song”
That's the job of an artist
A lesson from earlier generations
Before recorded music
& its self-consciousness
Ascend the mountaintop with your notes
From singing at the low point of the valley
Stand mid-air
As Okri says the job is to astonish the gods
It was a privilege to have someone to talk about
letters
As Intensely & beautifully
Even as his powers waned in Aged Care
He let me fly
We'd just started our climb back together
With my psychosis
A liberating event
Coz finally, after bearing life's early weight,
To fuck up ridiculously
To make such a mess
Like he had done
He & mum brought me home
Rescued me from the asylum
& commenced my recovery
Never stopped believing in me
Never made me feel silly
Just loved
Thank you mum & dad
I hear you tonight in the old Christmas carols
& see you in the tears that fall
Just how much I love you both
Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2023.
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