In the warm light of my desk lamp, you died tomorrow
At 4 a.m. in words from my fingers explaining You were gone, that I stood at your footprint On a plain of undone spirits I couldn't tend to When the children awoke and I made them eggs for breakfast. Tomorrow at 4 a.m. I live past you in each breath My slim mouth mirrors yours on the mountain You snatched a look at me through the fiery cloud, soon closing, My lungs fill with walks, old movies Waiting for the unsaid. Crooks, all of them. Don't trust your own mother. Take care of your own. How I tried But couldn't stand the weeping of the leaves On another path you never walked, it's different here, Shuddering in the wind, I wear another coat, keep you in the lining. I eat the fruits of your life richly, but hunger for the stories and the spruce On the wings of gulls hovering over the catch at dawn, Waiting for their time, long past 4 a.m., When the beak clenches the body, swallows it rising As I you on this day, so you can watch it through my eyes. For my father, a Republican I loved.
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August 2024
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