A previous version of this poem was published in Nervous Lethargy.
I walk on blades
Of grass around
My father’s grave
Avoiding sunken
Markers careful not
To wake the dead
I want to share news
About a great job
My own place to live
The love of a woman
Who finds me
Worthy of affection
But none of this
Has happened
And it’s getting late
I tell him about
Another mild
Chicago winter
And Vegas picking
The Cubs to win
The World Series
My voice breaks
Like mist
Above a whisper
As birds fly in V-formation
Over headstones
Fixed in solemn rows
I miss my dad too.
LikeLike