Lost Painting
So many geese in the graveyard
roving among white rows
of uniform headstones blurring
by on a Colorado road trip...
shifting gears in Albany’s cemetery,
choice site for learning how to
drive a stick shift with my father:
stop, start, stall over quiet knolls...
we meet a painter in Zermatt,
his easel set in a path beside plots
planted with flowers, each grave
its own garden in a town banning cars;
final stroke and the painting is ours,
gifted to me at thirteen... forgive
its fumbling pass from place to place;
the art of traveling is what holds fast.
~Charise M. Hoge
Para mi papá, March 1929-January 2026
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