When he died I was waiting
for my meal at a fast food restaurant thirty miles out.
My father called me and said,
without crying,
"Pap passed away."
I regret that I still kept waiting
for my food.

When I saw his body,
shorter than I remember,
in the casket lined with white,
I thought Am I man now?
I didn't say any words for him,
but laid a handed-down
golden cross necklace
over his cold fingers.
Part of me was buried, too.