Remembrance

Far into fever, at war within,

it was almost Christmas.

The tree tangled with warm lights.

His body cold

years attached to chords

sore and deformed.

Slow to walk

each foot using 

each last strength

to scale the living room steps. 

Breathing is erratic, 

but he never asks for help. 

Mom says it's mind over matter.

Every visit with the doctor is a new time of death, 

yet every time he overcomes their impossible test. 

Swallowed by my ignorance,

I thought that you were blessed

overlooked every morning 

in complete distress.

Skillfully hoisting disjointed instruments

of your body off your bedrest

every muscle howling out for help.  

The brief hallway between our rooms, 

a grueling course, conquered 

with repeatedly fading footsteps.

An orchestra of diversions composed 

to silence the truth.

My attention consumed,

I zoned out your withering symphony of a tune.

Your slippers on the hardwood floor

like a metronome that kept my tempo steady:

I love you, 

It's too soon, I'm not ready

But it was Christmas

and as you hugged me 

skin to bone

I felt you surrender

together, 

but I felt alone 

as I finally realized 

you're not made 

of unbreakable stone.

Mind no longer wielding your matter.

Thoughts buried deep

Medication the healer or the disaster?

Loosely floating your mind

soothing songbirds above your sleep. 

No more tune, but your steady breathing, 

a threaded endurance, 

and then, peace.

Now your memory lies deep in mine.

Whispers that gently sail through the house walls.

Your sound,

a soothing melody ever lingering

to remind me of your spirit signaling, 

to keep the beat steady 

in the hallway of our room’s uneven ground. 

Peering down the corridor I still see 

your open door and comedic frowns.

So as your spirit seeps through these words, 

I feel your presence,

 although your pieces won't all reveal again

the energy you carry on still emits,

remembrance.

Note to Grave

Don't tell me to deny reality, 

because I can't bear the lie 

anymore. 

Our tennis battles turned into internal battles.

Your strength sawed away and dismantled. 

I stood by and listened 

as your vocals slowly dropped to the floor, 

My late-night thoughts like a sword 

slicing through my core. 

Now, I live by faded “good mornings” 

of your voice 

these words taken for granted 

until they were suppressed. 

These unlicensed echoes of soul now still 

pierce through me

like a whale's cry 

traversing the depths of the ocean’s chest. 

Unbind me from reality,

because I can’t bear these echoed vocals

from long ago.

When will your voice fade into a static radio? 

When do I switch the channel 

finding a new mode to hold this soul 

that makes me, me? 

Tell me, Dad

When will you answer

and set me free?