I keep saying this isn’t even my death / to grieve, really, / and grieve a little more.

Then, I thought of the second time I almost died, the doctor who saved my sunken toe from its final tag. I wonder how my father is coping, a beer in one hand & an appointment in another.

Holy bed, twin & tiny, teach me / how to be firm with his body, / but to yield for his spirit, / give me something to carry home...