Autobiographical Poetry

My Dad, Circa 1973

He still walks taller than trees in my mind.

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My Dad and Me, Playing Chess, circa 1973, a family photo. All rights reserved, Emily Gibson

I don’t remember much from being five,
But I do remember:

Legs long as trees, stretching up beyond my reach.
A blond-red mustache a walrus might envy.
Cowboy boots and jeans, without the cows or horses.

Waffle-knit long sleeve Henley shirts
That eventually became repurposed as tank tops.

Blond hair swooped up from a widow’s peak —
In a surfer’s dream wave —
Continuously combed back with a hand.

Wire-rimmed glasses, adjusted with a precise grip,
Thumb and middle finger on the outer edges,
Index finger always pointing straight up.

Eyes that twinkled with humor,
Even if I didn’t get the joke
Or recognize a joke was being made.

Low wood shelves on cement blocks or hunks of timber,
Holding books and artifacts of life and nature.