Jurnal
My Dad
On His Deathbed
1 min lectură·
Mediu
In the wintry square
of a clinic\'s walls
he lay there
on the second floor.
Uncle helped him
to some red.
I couldn\'t
help but notice;
cancer made
his skull
seem small,
my hand cupping
his head.
Christmas eve, twenty-fourth,
we were singing that psalm
my uncle and I
while my mother stood by.
All the while
white snow
ever so slowly
fell from the sky.
In a car
on the eve
of Christmas Day,
we tried to get there
in time.
The motor stopped.
And the snow
fell ever so
slowly as we
sang that psalm.
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