Silent language

He packed the car before the sun

Two worn bags and a borrowed coat

Dad checked the tires,

then closed the trunk Like every word

was caught in his throat At the campus gate he cleared his

eyes Said, son, call home when you can

Then held the wheel

with white-knuckled hands And drove off smaller than a man

I waited for the speech he never gave

For some big brave line to stay

But love can stand beside a truck

And watch you walk away

(ahhhh) He loved me in the things he did In oil-stained hands

and coffee lids In the porch light left for coming home In

staying close by letting go

Now I hear what he could not say

His silence carried me

all the way

Years ran fast through rented rooms Late rent,

first job, midnight rain I became the man who called too little

Then heard my own son say my name I fixed his bike

and checked the locks Left notes beside his cereal bowl And felt

my father in my hands Saying more than words could hold

At his kitchen table,

gray and thin He slid my old keys back to me

I finally saw the letters there

Written in what he could not speak (hmmmmm)

He loved me in the things he did In every ride and

every door he fixed In the miles he drove without complaint In

the prayers he kept beneath his breath Now I hear

what he could not say His silence carried me all the way

And when my boy is leaving home I will love him so

he knows (ohhh)

I packed his car before the sun And said,

call home when you can

Then held the wheel with open hands And understood my old man