Papa Benny

In the chilly dawn, I wake to a world transformed

By the absence of leaves and the embrace of mud

The lingering scent of fish and earth

 

A pocketknife, a worn green shirt

Memories of him, etched into every fiber

The sorrow lingering in every stitch and seam

 

Outside, the world is stained with his presence

Every rusted nail a reminder of his hands

The empty spaces filled with his absence

 

At the edge of the shore, his belongings lay

A silent testament to his love for the water

And the life he lived within its depths

 

I pick up his old pliers, worn and weathered

And prepare the line for another day of fishing

A quiet moment of connection to the man I miss

 

The lake is hard and cold, unforgiving in its truth

But as the trout bite and dance in the sunlight

I feel him with me, guiding my hand

 

I pull the glistening prizes from the water

Each catch a small triumph, a moment of joy

In a world that feels so empty without him

 

So I wear his shirt, I use his tools

And I carry his memory with me

As I navigate this new world without him. ("Papa Benny") by Courtney Weaver Jr.