My Father at 93

My Father at 93


Fragile, large

Full with

Bach cello suites

and ratatouille

That he made himself


Five days we breakfasted





Cooked applesauce

Picked basil

from the garden

Made fragrant




Spent two hours

Drinking margaritas,

eating guacamole

Waiting for mariachis

that never came

It didn’t matter that

they never came


Five days of waking and sleeping

Hawks circling and crying

Deer walking silently by the window


We sat close in a tiny movie theater

Watching a film that

tore at our dreams

as we slept


I put cream on his eyes

Rubbed his feet

Reassured him the way he reassured me

When I was a little girl

That everything was going to be all right


Driving him through the countryside

I look back and see

My sister and I sitting in the backseat

Singing, stroking each others’ hair


Hoping he’d carry us up the elevator

and plop us into our beds


He doesn’t believe in life after death

But I know that when he leaves this planet

we’ll find each other again

and just as it is happening now

the old hurts will have melted away




Morning Star Chenven




2 thoughts on “My Father at 93

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s