I follow the road <br />of my father’s voice <br /> <br />journey with him <br />along white roads...over green fields <br /> <br />barefoot <br />to school & back <br /> <br />(shoes if at all...worn only to church) <br /> <br />picking up the cuts & scabs <br /> stubbed toes <br /> <br />his going to school <br />would entail <br /> <br />in the early years of the 1920’s <br />only so much history to me <br /> <br />real <br />to him <br /> <br /> <br />his toes <br />knowing the wind <br />in the grass <br /> <br />for what it is <br /> <br />his toes <br />clasping a rock <br />fording a stream <br /> <br />Irish & poems <br />bubbling through his head <br /> <br />babbling along <br />the tongue <br /> <br />words thrown to <br />those lost summer skies <br /> <br />startling a blackbird <br />spouting his poetry <br /> <br />with poetry <br />of his own <br /> <br />(3 miles to school...3 miles back) <br /> <br /> <br />his mind a skimmed stone <br />dancing along a river <br /> <br />over unforgiven <br />stones <br /> <br />thorns attacking his feet <br />with undisguised relish <br /> <br />the vehemence of glass <br />glinting greedily <br /> <br />for the next footstep <br /> <br />the menace <br />of the twisted rusty nail <br /> <br />& its treachery <br />betraying the next footfall <br /> <br />as he walks over <br />the unremitting years <br /> <br />into my eyes <br />wide with wonder <br /> <br />listening to him <br />tell of himself <br /> <br />as a little boy <br /> <br />to his little boy <br />the me of then <br /> <br />my eyes now <br /> <br />following the road <br />of my father’s voice <br /> <br />as it wanders <br />barefoot <br /> <br />through my tears <br />& memory.<br /><br />Dónall Dempsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/barefoot-for-angie-baby/
