Reflections on Dad’s 100th Birthday flying into Alaska Last night the sun tried to set for seven hours but could only balance on the lip of the world restraining the darkness of space. The plane gazed down on a blanket of clouds poked through with jagged snow-covered peaks belonging no more to earth than sky and I remembered how Jack climbed the bean stalk hand over hand until field and village acquiesced to a world of riches ripe for the taking. Your granite eyes held their own kinds of riches. Sometimes love disguises itself as a challenge poised on the rim of trivial conversations. It’s alright if a thousand things were left unsaid between us. Sometimes God folds the blanket back just enough for us to wriggle inside.
Alfred Fournier is a writer and community volunteer in Phoenix, Arizona. His poems have appeared in Amethyst Review, Third Wednesday, Gyroscope Review, The American Journal of Poetry, The Indianapolis Review and elsewhere. His chapbook A Summons on the Wind is forthcoming from Kelsay Books. Twitter: @AlfredFournier4.
Amethyst Review 