I don’t often give context to my poetry. I think that poetry is something which the people should interpret for their own. This poem calls for context. It is about a father figure in my life who passed away in early October. I call him the treasure hunter, because that was his job and his passion. Collecting treasures to sell and give to others. He was the most generous man I have ever met, and I miss him dearly. This is free verse, it cannot and will not be contained, much like the treasure hunter. This is poetry for the hurting, poetry for those in need of healing. The treasure hunter knew that many things could not be healed materially. I hope that you find these words well and as a form of medicine for the heart.
It has only been three months
Since I last saw the treasure hunter.
I drove near his house today
Over the ashen roads.
They remind me of his smile
Crooked teeth between taught cheeks.
They hold back stories of childhood
Of simpler times before iPhones
A time where a four-wheeler
Was better after a bout of beers.
That is not to say I condone it,
Nor do I understand his stories
But I cherished them.
And I cherished him.
He was not my father.
Yet, he was my father.
That role that was already filled.
I never knew that it could be coordinated
And I’m certain that it was not meant to be.
I’m certain that it will never come to be again.
Yet, I am forever thankful that it was.
For the treasure hunter was a man
Who collected everything in the land
Taking what he could, the garbage of others
Giving all he had, to sisters and brothers.
If he saw the ash on those roads today
He would have something to say
Hooking up some plow that he found
Clearing away and salting the ground.
If he were here today
He would have something to say.
Maybe a story of old, laced with proverb
One that would make many bothered.
Yet he would tell it with that crooked smile
And drag you in, even if only for a short while.
For he not only hunted for treasures
He hunted for hearts, non-material pleasures.
A conman of the people and for the people.
Now, my final memory of him is in a steeple.
May you all find your treasure hunter.
May you all cherish them as my mother did.
May you all respect them as I did.
May you all love, as he did.
I want to know what you, the reader, thinks. Consider leaving a comment and I will reply!