My Father in Oaxaca
I saw my father this evening.
I walked through the zócalo,
opened the main cathedral doors,
looked up, and there he stood,
motionless.
Light shone through stained glass
and gifted him a halo,
as if he were some long dead
saint come back to visit me.
We stared at each other.
The hairs on my neck
stood on end.
My hands shook.
When I forced my mouth open,
words stuck in my throat.
He wore his best grey suit
over a light blue shirt
and a dark blue,
hand woven tie:
the outfit in which
I had buried him.
rogermoorepoet 
I can see him clearly. Well done, Roger.
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Thanks Allan. Cold here this morning, but warmth in my heart from your kind words.
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Great Poem. Love the painting as well.
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Thank you. That was my first painting of 2022. I have done six now and have two unfinished upstairs. Writing has been revision, rather than creation. Make it a great year!
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Thanks Roger! You too… keeps up the good work!
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Very touching one…loved your words…
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Thank you. This actually happened back in 1994. It left me stunned. I still dream and think about it.
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Yeah, we have such memories that stay with us through out our lives..very close to our hearts….loved the painting too
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You are so right. Thank you. My first painting of 2022! Have a great year!
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