As September Comes

 As September comes-

I remember you telling me,

How Jesus Christ is the King,

and those who know Him will never die.

I was sitting on your knee,

maybe I was six or seven-

we were sitting in the kitchen

looking out the glass doors into our backyard

In Spotswood.

I couldn’t stop my questions,

running out of my mouth in rivers

as curious children can be.

I asked:

“Will He forgive people who are evil,

those who will wait until the last possible second

of life

for forgiveness?”

You answered:

“Only God knows a heart,

so only He will know if a person 

really asks for forgiveness, and means it.”

I remember you- a silhouette in the sun 

wearing a straw hat, God knows where you got it-

to protect your head and light skin

while vacuuming the pool, or re-filling the chlorine.

I remember smelling the chlorine,

and knowing you were out there

making our pool ready for a family swim.

I knew, as I ran to my bedroom window

looking out to the side of our house.

That’s where I  dreamed of the day 

when I would gather the courage

to jump off the high dive. 

You always showed us 

that there was nothing to it,

swan diving gracefully,

relying only on your faith

that would rise to the surface

as you always did.

I remember you allowing me to sip your beer

after all our yard work was done.

I will never forget the swarm of wasps that chased

you, 

after you accidentally cut

into their nest with a chainsaw.

I never saw you run so fast,

climb the fence, and make a quick 

jump into the pool.

I never before saw that look on your face 

when you barely nicked your finger 

on that very same chainsaw

while I called out to you:

“Dad!”

And-

how I never thought I would forgive myself

for distracting you.

As September comes,

I remember everything 

you ever told me

about the world 

all that it is  good 

and all that is bad.

Like the maggots I found 

in the wood pile,

or the beauty I found

in the rose bushes 

next to our clothesline.

I remember us welcoming 

vegetables as they matured

in our garden,

and picking apples from our 

applet trees,

sorting the good ones

from the ones where worms 

once lived.

As September comes, 

I miss all our adventures and misadventures

with you now in Heaven,

and me still-

-waiting-

for that day 

when we can be together again.

-Laurie Perrone

copyright 2024