Our Compass

His grin crinkled all the way up to steady blue eyes
And belly laughs tickled the air between us
As we rassled in a pile, never tiring,
Until we squealed
And cried "Uncle!" Four against one, all winners.

We mobbed him at the kitchen door at workday's end
Vying for the spotlight of his affection
And the cheery coins jingling in his pockets--
We were children
Rich in nickel and dime indulgence.

Philosophical patronizing pales beside
His gifts of saintly consistency and quality time
Among princely pines, red mud, and gurgling gullies.
He was a carpenter
Of memory-buildings and summer-spinnings.

Within a heroic heart we found encased a mortal man
Composed of faults and fears and flesh, and hopes and dreams.
Our Father called our father home to Him,
And left us struggling
True north by the blood-bond compass that guides our stumbling.

Tara Colarelli 1997