from a work in progress: “process, not a journey” (32)

after dad died

I would wear his shirts

they were too large

for my adolescent body

.

thin wisps of skin 

like spider’s silk

drift in the wind

.

each new mask adhered

to and was shaped by

the one that came before

.

my feet are numb now

as if on fire

.

as the ground slips away

I grasp for space

.

I don’t know how I got here

or where I’m coming from

I’m tired and out of breath

I need to sit down 

.

when asked I don’t know

who I am or where

.

I think of my father

and how he died gasping

for air drowning in phlegm

.

and my collar grows tight

.

(February 24, 2020)

3 Comments

  1. johncoyote says:

    The people we loved and who loved us. We never forget.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. subtextures says:

    I’m sorry for your loss. My father died 42 years ago this week. It becomes a part of you for a long time, at least in my case.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. johncoyote says:

    Powerful words shared. I lost my father on 21 January 2020. I gather his photos, books and his poetry. I understand the poem. We try to grasp part of someone.

    Like

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