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Published on January 6, 2009 By Buddah Moskowitz In Poetry

My father taught me

to develop good habits.

 

“Make it second nature

so you don’t have to

remember so much.”

 

Clean up after yourself.

Iron your work clothes the night before.

Work first, then play.

 

These habits

hum in me

silently in the background

like a trusted

computer program.

 

But every January 6th

I am trapped

because the post office doesn’t

deliver to his new location

and my cell phones plan

doesn’t include roaming to Heaven.

 

He would have been

74 today

and I would have called

and we would have had

that same awkward phone call

we always had:

 

the one where neither of us

likes talking on the phone

but we find comfort

in each other’s voice.

 

I miss his voice

so much that

I feel my heart

squeezing hard

as if I could force it

to remember what

he sounded like.

 

For the past ten years

every January 6th

I am reminded

that this is one habit

I should probably

try to break.


Comments
on Jan 06, 2009

As usual, you slay me with your words!  That was so beautiful.  It is good to see you writing again Mr. Moskowitz, I hope this won't be the last!  

on Jan 06, 2009

I like to think I hold the same sort of feeling for my father.  Thankfully, he is still around, albeit far from where I live.  We talk every week, though.

Thanks for reminding me how much I love him.  Beautiful work, as always, mate.

on Jan 06, 2009

This was beautiful. This is a such a touching tribute I kinda think he knows.

on Jan 06, 2009

ps I hope we see more of you.

on Jan 06, 2009

that same awkward phone call

we always had:



the one where neither of us

likes talking on the phone

but we find comfort

in each other’s voice

That describes every one of my calls with my father.

I love him dearly, and I need to call him.  Thanks for this beautiful piece to remind me of both.

on Jan 08, 2009

A wonderful tribute. And I hate to tell you this Buddah, but I'm afraid this habit will be with you always.

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