For Fran;oise on the death of her father
I know how it feels when you, in shock,
are wishing to undo what’s in the past
and search for words that can perhaps unblock
the feelings of the guilt you store to last:
why were you not by him to see his breath
expire in the empty yellow room?
The sole visitor, who saw him, was his Death,
who watched his soul to adjust and groom
itself before the audience of Grace
and how his soul overstepped the moment
that opened a door to a new place,
where he could lay at rest his earthly torment.
I know how it feels. The father dies,
and you, consumed with guilt, toss in your bed.
The life reels, and nothing justifies
his pain and your words, not ever said.
3.01.2012