Imprints Part 1 of Trilogy
(Part 1 of Trilogy for My Father)
His shoes by the front door make me cry
like his glasses resting atop an
unfinished crossword
and his toothbrush in its holder
the bristles still damp.
And I wonder...
Did he brush his teeth before he
put the gun to his heart?
A cereal bowl waits in the sink
The laundry basket overflows
"To Do" lists adorn the refrigerator.
Suicide is not on the list, and I am
almost surprised.
He was a tidy person, neat
organized almost to the point of obsession
That's how he lived; that's how he died.
But Dad...
I'd have felt better if, for once in your life
you'd left a mess. But no
even in the ultimate act of selfishness,
you strove to be polite, choosing to lie
on the shower's cold tiles, no doubt
thinking we could just flush the blood away
with the turn of a faucet.
Yes, the place is spotless.
A tiny trace of blood, a single gouged tile
are the only signs that a life ended here.
It seems, somehow, that there should be more.
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