The
Farthest Journey
It is in the sound of the apparatus, like
gods,
they surround him, stare into the heart of
him
and murmur a decision about him, that I feel
my disconnect from the prospect of his
death.
I offer silent prayers to these unknown
machines.
Every labored breath he takes, I promise
another act
I will perform as penance, as payment, a
stalling
of the ferry’s price, as if my thoughts are
a cat of nine tails,
and I flay my future with this fear of
being left fatherless.
On his finger resides a clip, as if he is
dangling on a line,
or being dangled; a slim chance that he may
yet return
to my shore, open his eyes, cease his
ramblings
about a past before I was born and smile
again at me,
his last boy - this father of mine fights a
battle in a white room
and outside the world is grey but between
is the deep abyss.
I have not the words of farewell, sacred or
profane;
they got lost somewhere in the journey – I
cannot remember when he held me, or the
feel of his lips,
only his chin, rough as sandpaper, and his
watery eyes
that smiled at me whenever I found my way
home.
I have wandered far, thought I had left him
behind
and now I stand at his bedside and realize
he is about to take the farthest journey
and I stand here
and try to remember every shattered aspect
of us.
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