my dad is moving halfway across the country at 90 almost and this place where he’s been living I will never see it again
I haven’t known it long and it is not beautiful or magnificent not special at all except, I don’t know why, to me
he won’t be closer or farther I am far away I just stay here once in a while when we clumsily spend time together
it’s just that I will never SEE it again I will not be HERE in the future where I can still see my children and their children awkwardly comfortable on last summer’s visit
who moves at such an age? long before that you go somewhere to die and slowly circle in on the campus, the wing, the room, the bed
zooming in on the death bed…!
wait! I know what it is! this place! before the buildings were here! we came here — you were small children then — dad lived nearby and we picked pecans off the ground and played in the brown leaves laughter and frolicking and teasing and bullying and life was hard and beautiful and full of errors
I miss us being in one part of the world. now not one is left in the place of your childhood.
Assume for one minute that the world was healed again,strong, though creeping veins and ventricles, unclogged their own blockages and once again it’s you who can sing and live again presume you are well again,and again ,celebrating the night and