To God’s Savior, Norman by Adele Maze

It’s odd how much someone’s life changes after they die. When my father passed, my family told stories of a different man than the one I knew. Even the memorial service didn’t really fit him. It was more for those of us still here.

Photo courtesy Brian Landis

To God’s Savior, Norman

by Adele Maze

(I didn’t see my father much
but I went to his funeral.
It was formulaic,
in a church he never attended.
My sisters and I walked in
as strangers.
We were given a card
with a picture of Jesus
eyes rolled upward
crown of thorns
and the words,
like puncture wounds
and ridiculous at once,
“God’s Savior, Norman”)

Love was minuscule
a rarity.
I spent my childhood
sitting next to you,
mutilated mealtimes,
lacking flavor.
I welcomed disturbance.
I was the clown.
I wanted you
to put down the steak knife,
look up from your plate.
Heart remote
in a hedged off courtyard.

“Ask me about my day”
You missed the three stone steps
to the highest terrace,
the view
where everything contributes.

Toast is a weekly email newsletter and yearly printed anthology.

Subscribe to get Toast sent to your email

  • Glenna Luschei, Abiding Publisher and Editor Emeritus
  • Benjamin Daniel Lawless, Editor in Chief
  • Tom Harrington, International Editor
  • Rena Ferro, Managing Editor