Ian Randall Wilson


Beside My Father

Did you think we would stay as we were forever
               the time between us turning as loam turns with loam
planting in the old garden my father and I at work
               while you rested on the rise behind us face turned to
catch the meager warmth of the sun's last rays sorrowed
               by the lack of souvenirs no root no rock no arrowhead
only smooth dirt and the sound the shovels make the
               jolting of the pick in the moment of impact my father's
breath tracing his chest apart from himself and the
               line of sweat falling off my shoulders fall and
disappear within my shadow changed by each bend and
               pull and throw until the men working in the garden
became indistinguishable from night but you unobserved
               had gone by then and left us in the gathering chill.