It's been more than a year since my last post. Today I am
packing away the precious cargo of my father. Things I had
not really ever looked very closely at, as they jumbled
up the shelves and every square inch of air space above
the arena he called his office.
One shelf parked rows of steel blacks, reds, blues,
shimmers and glints of spokes and chrome, rubber and
metallic paint catching the eye as twinkling stars. Another shelf,
actually the top surface of 2 filing cabinets, held a menagerie
of war planes aircraft carriers, dust and metal men.
It's all a blur really, these hanging planes, war scenes, miller light
mirrors lining the walls, books, statues and trophies all standing
at attention, until packing day, today, when each piece glides through
my fingers, tasting impressions.
I see through your eyes Dad.
I feel you.
Short bursts of strafing fire sear the sides of my enemy's plane.
dark frothing smoke fills my nostrils.
It's a good day to die. It's a good day to live.
Holes explode through the side of the card board box..
the hum of the engine. I am the cockpit, the sound of soaring air,
the life flying through shredded paper landing at my
Base in a Box.
Waiting.
Gathering stories, elements, personas.
Waiting.
One day the time capsule will receive the squinting light,
piercing through the night of darkness and time. One day
new fingers will explore, seeking what's hidden by the
shreddings of comfort and solace, exposing the history
of worlds and wars gone by.
And they will marvel, drawing in breath and imagination.
Thank You Dad ~
For coming alive through me today.
I love you always
~Isa
