IN A MONTH

-

In a month I will be the same age

That my dad was

When he died.


It’s a number that has 

Tortured me 

Ever since he flew away

Like a cherished red balloon

And now

Here it is

Waiting for me

Like satan with a butterfly net

who collects souls

For his permanent collection.


My dad had not been truthful about his age 

because he was 15 years older than my mom

And thought that the difference between them 

would be upsetting to

My sister and I

So he shaved off ten years

With the precision of his silver safety razor

Which sat 

Splayed like a crucifix

On his bathroom sink.


When he died

Leaving in his wake

A  tuna sandwich

Perched like a headstone

With garnish

On the observation deck of our

refrigerator

It was shocking to discover the truth.


After death secrets 

Seem far more profound

Than the ones that are stashed away

Like dresser drawer love letters

During the breathing years

Because

The only way to solve

The mystery of them

Is with the microscope of your

Imagination

Which at best can only

Magnify the atomic particles

Of possibilities.


Despite the endless years of

Obsessing about the many things that broke

My dad’s eggshell heart

Which I guess has just been my way

Of keeping it beating forever

I have reached the conclusion that

All I can do is fully accept the never ever knowing

Which is the inheritance of the abandoned child

Which I feel 

More than ever

As I become his age.

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