Your inquiry angers me, rubs my skin Against a cheese grater made of words, And polite interest in his wellbeing.
What I want to ask is For you to stop. Stop asking. Stop reminding. Stop making me take inventory Of what’s been lost And what is soon to be Gone.
What I want to say is My dad has Parkinson’s. A disease that turns your bones to cement, And your brain is Swiss cheese. That my dad’s memory is going And won’t be back. That I feel its presence Every time I think of him. What I want to say is I am trapped in a cycle of grieving, A grief that moves in slow motion Blackening small pieces of your heart With its touch.
HVWP COMMONPLACE 23
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