Batik

...conjures up my father
who loved the beaches
of Indonesia more than
any person. Here he is,
in my curtains and tablecloths,
the browns and yellows, gold
of the whole world, wrapping
round me. The fields wild
stubble...there is the man.
If I could, I would paper
the walls in batik patterns.
No matter, I'd still have to
see him walking away,
through the haunted door,
long gone down the dirt lane.
A lifetime ago and
remembering,
I want to howl like
a left-behind animal.