After G. E. Patterson
At four, I thought myself a coward
for in his eagerness to cure
my fear of heights, my father
insisted I walk on
the bridge beam over
our tiny creek
holding his
hand. I
cried.
At eight, I thought myself braver when
in his impatience to teach me
how to dive, my father walked
out on the board with me
then grabbed my ankles
held me over
the deep end
and let
go.
At sixteen, I knew myself deeper
than Baltimore’s Catechism,
knew I had lost faith in Our
Father in Heaven, whose
satisfaction required
bloody sweat, the
sacrifice
of His
Son.
At sixty-four, I tell myself how wrong
I was to fear the precipice of
Death: that bone finger pointing
to what moved my father’s
heart: His bloody sweat
the diving board
a bridge beam
my small
self.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 24, Issue 6.
Paula Reed Nancarrow is a Minnesota poet and winner of the Winter 2020 Sixfold Poetry Prize. Recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in Nixes Mate, Permafrost, Plainsongs and The Southern Review. Links to poems online can be found at paulareednancarrow.com.
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