My father swinging a pickaxe rhythmically
Up over his head and slamming it down
The point piercing hard red clay
Breaking it all up to create another planting bed
I place this garden preparation picture in memory
Another snapshot I can take out and examine
Part of my mental album that stitches scenes
Amounting to a piecing together of his life I saw
I wish I had but never asked him in the end
If he saw his life as having come together
A big picture completed as he’d hoped it would
Each step by step adding up to some sense of whole
I could have used his assurance that everything I do
Will piece into the jigsaw picture I can’t believe I’ll complete
Lanning Lee 