“Everything Is Ready; I Will Call Dad”

by Mildred Barthel

Usually he is called in from somewhere,

but tonight

I pause by his sleeping face,

pondering the strong features

gently disassembled in their fatigue.

His work

goes beyond cool morning fragrances

into hum of heat and rinses of cold,

and I know that in the black of last night

he was up healing those who would call wrong right.

Even in sleep this giant earthly father

breathes strength and strict devotion.

I choke with emotion and hoarsely spill forth my message.

He stirs.

Reality places itself between his eyes, and

duty moves his body. Our reaching hands

clasp tight in love. He laughs as young as I am.

We lead each other to the kneeling family circle.

Whatever despair he knows

is caged in discipline. After

a comfortable relationship with silence,

he begins the prayer.