Dad
You reach the end of the garden path and open the gate. I wait at the door. You reach the vestibule with its mosaic tiled floor with a big hug for me. Daddy’s girl, always. Tea done, you fetch Glen’s lead and we climb the hill to the spread of The Links. We talk. It’s as if we have met in a previous life, the click – you, a pipe smoking fan of Bertrand Russell, always think, think, and think the eternal puzzles of existence. Our walks are adventures in language, in invention, a form of The Great Egg Race without eggs.
You reach the end of your life. The world is guilty of a sick joke. You tell me all I need you to tell. You tell the truth. You keep promises. I can’t comprehend my heart. We bring your stuff home in a black bag. You stay behind. You stay with me like an ancient philosopher offering solace in oratory. I hear the soft Glasgow voice, and then lose your voice. I hear your words, the kindness of Bronowski in each one. It is as if you’d done your work with me. You are my golden one, flawed and devoted.
Maggie Mackay’s poem How to Distil a Guid Scotch Malt is in the Poetry Archive’s WordView permanent collection. Poetry Archive Now Wordview 2020: How to Distill a Guid Scotch Malt – Poetry Archive Her collection The Babel of Human Travel (Impspired.com ) was published in 2022.She reviews poetry collections at https://thefridaypoem.com.