Last Goodbye
The last time we said goodbye, Dad
looked at me with Indian eyes
and said through fading lips, "You two
take care of each other." I thought,
Something is wrong. I didn't know
he would be dead within twelve hours.
Five minutes pass me like five hours.
Looking down at the shell of Dad,
Still as a leaf in grass, I know
he will never smile with his eyes
again. Oh God, help me, I thought.
The black hands of the clock touch two.
The doctor steps beside us two.
The clock ticks off the mocking hours.
“Stop his machine?” I say. “I thought
you could do something to save Dad!”
“I want to leave,” say Dad’s dark eyes.
Bent, I whisper to him, “I know.”
I am more like Dad than I know.
Scot and Cherokee; one from two.
It showed when you looked in his eyes.
Looking at them, I see the hours
he’s wanted to be with Mom. Dad
misses his wife more than I thought.
The doctor sighs and says “I thought,
we could revive him. Look, I know
this hurts, but your father’s dead.” Dad
died at almost nine thirty-two.
His heart kept beating for five hours
with a stillness in hazel eyes.
Dad stares up through porcelain eyes.
The doctor is right. Untamed thoughts
skip to the years ahead, the hours
alone as an orphan. I know
it’s time to stop his heart. For two
minutes, I think I’m killing Dad.
Dad's eyes close and I know he’s gone.
My thoughts rage between two extremes.
The hours stop. I kiss Dad goodbye.
|