Arts Alive San Antonio

The moving poem we are publishing this week was written by James – Jimmy – Adair as a tribute to his father Rob Adair. Jimmy is the editor of the literary magazine VOICES DE LA LUNA and a lecturer at UTSA.

Masks
By James R. Adair

The dead never have to wear masks.—Carmen Tafolla ”COVID and La Calaca”

You didn’t know what was happening,
because the doctors and nurses were wearing masks,
and since you could neither hear nor read their lips—
you couldn’t hear us on the phone, either—
your last days on earth were spent alone and confused.

It was a far cry from the days of my childhood,
when you were the strongest man I knew,
hitting a softball farther than anyone I’d ever seen,
tossing teenaged boys easily with either arm
as they (we) tried to dunk you in the pool.

Huge hands with fingers like telephone poles,
a contrast to my piano-player hands,
but they were gentle too, like you,
fit to build a cabinet or cradle a baby.

I remember you teaching me to play catch,
to swim,
to drive a car,
to hammer a nail (never my strong suit),
to play checkers and chess, cards and dominoes
(especially forty-two).

As you lay there on that hospital bed,
Your lungs could no longer extract oxygen from the air,
we watched as you gasped for one more breath…
failed…
and passed into the next world.

Since I am writing on the Dia de los Muertos
it seems fitting to remember and honor you,
with an altar, a photo
as I think about the past, with you in it,
and I ponder the day when I, too, will be a photo on someone’s altar,
and I will no longer have to wear a mask to talk to you.