30 July 2021

Episode 130: Scoping

This poem has been, appropriately, in the works for some time. I believe it's the first I've ever written about my father, though I have thoughts for several more. The text of the poem is at the bottom of this post, as this is another debut of a work.

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I'm standing on the landing

Of our brand new house,

staring out into the yard.

My son asks me what I'm doing,

and I reply

That I'm thinking about something.


In my thinking I am tinkering

Building out a shape,

Resolving the problem.

Working out the requirements

As my father did

So many times when I was a son.


I never gathered why it mattered

why he just stood there.

Staring at an empty parcel of our yard,

or a wall of the house

Why not just start doing?


He was scoping in that moment

As he stood there still.

His mind assembling the pieces

and the measurements

He would tell me.


Eventually I knew I would see

Something new out in the yard;

Or some fresh construction:

Bringing craftsmanship

And utility to our home.


And as I am standing on the landing

Staring out the window

of our brand new house,

My son asking me

why I was just standing there…


I know that in so many small ways,

I have become my father.

Left Hand Poetry: My Podcast of Poems

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