My Father's Hands

A poem about remembering when my father could still play music.

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I remember when you used to sing

with your guitar.

Eyes glittering, voice deep and clear, reciting the songs I still know by heart.

Now the light in your eyes has gone away

Like stars faded in another age.

Your hands, once so sure, don't remember how to play.

You look at me, confused and disarrayed.

I put my head on your shoulder and say

"I wish you would come back to me someday."

By Jonna Kihlman

From: Sweden

Website: https://www.dikterochtankar.com

Instagram: poemsbyjonna

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