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April 2017, vol 13 no 1

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Ryan Jessup

A Letter to My Father at the End of Winter

Ron L. Jessup 1953-2016


late in the afternoon with the sunlight falling down through the clear warm air I step out onto the patio away from all the screens and the devices of the day to hear the birds sing their new songs of the oncoming spring while the squirrels and rabbits play their instruments of twigs and leaves and I sit down in my little bamboo chair out in the yard with a cold beer in my hand and I think of you being here with me talking and laughing and enjoying each other’s company here on the front row of this free and timeless performance

rising up out of the rose bush the voice of a cardinal


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