Today is my father’s birthday. Harold Borgh lived on earth from 1915-1983. One year we gave him a crossword puzzle dictionary, which is now in this room. He held it together with duct tape.
The publications where my poems have appeared are on the lower shelf of one of Dad’s “blond bookcases,” as we call them in the family. I think he bought these from a fellow teacher and then did the finishing work.
Today I looked for one of my grief poems, but found this one instead. He would like it and approve of this choice for his day. Mom enjoyed this poem too.
Dad also told me to be sure to save time for my own work, which I keep learning all the time. That, and to get plenty of rest, so I can keep creating by God’s grace.
If We Ever Had The Chance
Would we remember?
We ponder that
As we keep each other warm
These cold winter nights,
Watching other rabbits
Run free in the moonlight.
If we ever had the chance,
Would we remember how to
Run from danger and
Seek our own food?
We’ve been domesticated
For as long as we know.
Yet, we don’t say this
In a self-disparaging way.
We bring happiness to this
Family, we comfort each other,
And now we inspire the
Poet who lives next door.
Still, if we ever had the chance,
Would we remember?
Does she?
Published in Time of Singing (Volume 20, 1994); MOMENTS IN TIME (October 1994).
Poems From Oostburg, Wisconsin 