Father’s day

I no longer imagine speaking to him
Explaining what I see of life, alert for the slight
Tremor of the eyelid
Some signal, some connection

Once, in a dream, he called me to join him
Held out a crumbling hand
I kicked him away, catching his chest
Exploding with the dust of dying
Hollow as the years of living

I look at an old photograph,
A young officer, impish gleaming eyes,
A girl on either arm

I think we might have come to terms,
The two of us,
But he died somewhere in the old country
Long before his wraith gave me life

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