Peace

The leaf leaves without a word,
lets loose the grip and falls.
Father went the way of the leaf.

He told me casually, months before the fall,

‘It gets easier the closer you get,
a thing I never expected,
it gets easier the closer you get.’

I reached out to touch his arm,
noticed his skin had become speckled,
as if he was returning to the egg
after all the time spent in the sun.

His hand rested palm upwards,
the fingers gave a slight tremble,
and I was reminded
of a poem by Seamus Heaney;
dad had grown tired of holding us.

I watched each moment
hatch in his chest
until the next moment never came.

It was like
an ocean without waves
or the sun without light.

He fought at the end despite
his words. I wept…but water
cannot erase the truth.