Tuesday, 23 June 2020


by Marilyn Flower

I'd like to say
I didn't know

he'd die that day,
the morning I fled

my father. I held
his legs against

the palsy,
pressed his jumping

body to the hospital
cot. Early

Monday, the nurse
brings his pill;

he turns
his head away.

I know he’ll be gone
by nightfall.

I kiss him, kiss
Mother (who doesn't

know), race
from the room,

he'll leave

before the airport
bus carries me away.

He waits
until evening

to take that breath

Knowing you knew, Dad,
I sigh, content

we blessed
each other’s flight.

* * * * *
"Flying Home" was first published in Poets and Dreamers Literary Journal (April 2016).  

Marilyn Flower teaches literature in the Emeritus program at Saddleback College in Mission Viejo. California. She is a strong advocate for parity for part-time faculty.

1 comment:

  1. The line breaks suggest short bursts in the telling, broken by choking back sobs. A moving poem.