PAD #2: Sixty and a Half

Sixty and a Half

Dad slips on the carpet, catches himself
against the sheet rock of the wall.
Anthony has school? What day is it, he asks.
Monday, I say. Oh. Shakes his head. Can't keep
up with the days, Leigh.

I go to the kitchen to start breakfast.
Two eggs, grits and sausage for him.
A bowl of chex and Greek yogurt for me.
He throws a braided brow my way,
Is that all you're gonna eat?
He can't stop being Dad.
I won't stop being his daughter,
or give up the fight.

A will sits unsigned on the table,
waiting for the drip of an ink pen,
his final wishes flashing above his head
as he scraps a fork across his plate.
Wooden casket. American flag. Music.
No tears, Leigh. No tears.
Each bite draws me closer
to this.

He brings a napkin to his face.
Anthony's games will be fun this fall.
Can't wait to see my grandson play.
I smile. Neither can he, Dad.

He steadies himself with his hands to rise
from the table, the same ones that
hoisted me on his shoulders, and
held tight to the back of my bike
when I learned to ride .
He glances up at the ceiling,
peeling and cracked from a leak.
Nothing ever lasts long, he says. 

I know, I sigh, and I miss him already.