My dad’s death hit me
like a sudden, howling wind.
I was a sapling ripped
from the ground, roots
dangling.  My mom,
true to her nature, refused
to be bent, and left me
to right myself.
You can’t just fall to pieces.

She wouldn’t look back.
I couldn’t see forward.

That’s when daddy began
to slip into my dreams.  I would
run to him, he would
scoop me up.  That joy!  That
deliverance from grief.  Awake

I was as much a ghost as he was,
waiting for him
to walk in the door and ask,
Where’s my little Kit?
And where was I?