Note: this is a revision of my previous poem, 2 weeks in Mourning:
My dad died two weeks ago.
When I felt years younger.
Simply alive, then not alive.
Both of us, in a way.
Alone in the ward, his final breath,
shared only with strangers,
joined in whispering ether,
of others, lost in sojourn.
A nightmare had me parked down below,
on the street, clawing at doors,
clamoring at bricks,
to climb to him.
My memories have changed
Each now newly stamped,
One by one,
A bloody red burn, smoking parchment,
a reaper’s hand, diligently thumbing through,
smashing that mark down,
each and every one of them, redefined,
Re. Filed.
Soot in the fine grains of a thumbprint,
Like evidence,
A feeling that someone has tampered
*redacted*
Redefining each memory,
as they burn, and burn again,
burn Me away,
the Me you may have known,
now another to mourn,
in a tidy clasp of ashes,
like my father’s remains.
*redacted*
Different now,
I’m
Different now,
Hollow… no, not quite,
Every memory polluted,
Now I, Me/Re. Filed.
/ compromised / I’m
*spark*
Stuttering, hunched, mumbling,
Half of me gone
A bitten tongue
No, I mean that, science means that
Half of who would be me
is gone.