poetry

Prayer for my Father

I will miss the me
Your broken shadow (creases)
the reflections in the window.
I can smell your dusty soul in
your study, between the books
and the bones.

The computer hums, I can
see your earnest expression
pressed into its blue face.

When someone leaves,
they leave behind the crumbs
of who they are.
I hold your books like
healing stones in my
hooked hands.

Your beard lies buried
in the bed. Curtains
whistle, and the blanket
folds onto me, as certain
as Skin.

PhilosopherPoet

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