My father played the concertina,

a big box of squeeze and buttons and squeaky noises,

joyous noises, dancing melodies, prancing polkas;

playing concertina practically from birth,

young boy sitting on old wooden steps,

bringing the joyful noise of his sly smile youth

up through the new country of my young life,

joyfully at my wedding, along into the old country of his old life,

playing the concertina resting on his knees sitting in a chair.

My father enjoying life through that concertina, but

also getting so drunk at wedding receptions, burying

the unjoyed, unable to play through;

even passed out, stronger younger men carrying him out,

bumping his head down the steps, as they were drunk too,

but still able to stand, and carry, and bury…

My father played the concertina,

the joyous noise sounding through my young life,

squeaking and speaking of who my father is… was;

now quiet, the concertina,

put away in a box, like my father…

but he still lives, in the old country, of my joyful heart.

James Joseph Snyder is a retired engineer who worked in the product development of medical devices. He was born and grew up in Minneapolis, and lives there now. James has written poetry off and on, starting in grade school where poetry was encouraged. But more focused and regularly writing since 2017.