Fathers

Here: never. That was part of the last line
from a poet whom we learned to appreciate

the value of time, as it leaves space, as it ruins
the moment. Just like waking up this morning

when the sun slumbers behind blankets of clouds,
I answered my father’s call, when are you going home,

asking later if he disturbed my sleep. I’d be leaving
late, two or three, uncertain. I went back to covering

myself from the cold, then sleeping. Then, I got up again
when father called – or at least I thought it was him,

as a calm voice said hello, it was you, telling me you can’t
make it today because of your father, perhaps also lying

down in bed like me. I understood how this morning
was any in/different. A flock of birds travels south,

away from my window. I went into prayer.

for James

I can’t believe April’s over already. Well, so much for NaPoWriMo, at least it’s not a lost cause!😀

3 thoughts on “Fathers

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