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When My Dead Father Called by Robert Bly

from Poems I Could Not Write by Glad Judy

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From the "Poems I Could Not Write" EP. Written by Robert Bly. From Morning Poems, a collection published in 1997 by Harper Perennial. It is one of my favorite books.

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When My Dead Father Called

Last night I dreamt my father called to us.
He was stuck somewhere. It took us
A long time to dress, I don't know why.
The night was snowy; there were long black roads.

Finally, we reached the little town, Bellingham.
There he stood, by a streetlamp in cold wind,
Snow blowing along the sidewalk. I noticed
The uneven sort of shoes that men wore

In the early Forties. And overalls. He was smoking.
Why did it take us so long to get going? Perhaps
He left us somewhere once, or did I simply
Forget he was alone in winter in some town?

-Robert Bly (b. 1926)

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from Poems I Could Not Write, released October 18, 2010
www.myspace.com/gladjudy

gladjudy@gmail.com

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Glad Judy Bellingham, Washington

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