The Fourth Visit
My fathers fourth visit after his death
was a meeting in the middle
The middle is an endless concrete city
half constructed and unnoccupied
I picked him up in his car,
rather than the other way around
Because you can’t take you car with you when you die or drive it there
He got in on the passenger side
(For the first time)
He needed a ride
but couln’t tell me the destination
As always he was unable to speak
So we just made the rounds in silence
Until I dropped him off where we started and then woke myself
as if I had finished an errand
4 thoughts on "The Fourth Visit"
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Oh my goodness.
You’re so talented at so many things! What a moving poem.
Our relationships with our fathers, with death with our vehicles, are compelling themes to explore, especially as daughters.
Impressive what you achieve in this precise poem.
Dreams and poetry seem to work well together, perhaps because they are both so willing to be flexible with logic and so rich in detail. The details of this poem speak strongly of the ambivalence we very often feel as dreamers. And as poets. Nicely done!
Very inventive description of a poignant dream.
wow, very cool poem and experience. thanks for sharing.