Diagnosis

            for my father

Hanging up
from the call
I set to cleaning
the floor,
the sink,
the counters,
the fridge,
as if the grim
words
I heard
were grime
I could
scour away,
a pail of
dirty water
I could
pour down
the drain.
You were
father to
fields and barns,
too much
a man
to spend time
in a kitchen.
Yet for all
my scrubbing
this is where
the stubborn stain
of your suffering
remains.


Play notes: My father was diagnosed with COVID-19 on Christmas Eve. He is now under hospice care. Love you, Dad.


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