Port of Loss

Mary R. Finnegan

My father stood on the porch. The pink sun,
magnificent and fierce, set the sky ablaze.

It would take an hour or more for the day
to come undone and for all of the colors to bleed

into the blues and the grays and the midnight darkness
of a late evening in July. I did not know then

of the loss to come, of the ache, stark and severe,
that would follow. I did not linger on the porch

that evening or allow love’s extravagance to steer.
I did not drop anchor in that small port of time

when the light was perfect and the sky ablaze
and my father’s love was the star that lit and led the way.

Memory now is the star that guides,
memory now, the port where pain abides.

Mary R. Finnegan is a writer and nurse from Philadelphia. Her essays and poetry have appeared in several journals including PILGRIM: A Journal of Catholic Experience, American Journal of Nursing, Dead Housekeeping, and Medical Literary Messenger.