Do not sanitize this as a calling
Do not raise me up with unclean hands
When those hands have never knocked on my door.
I feel each of his breaths slip through my hands
Becoming a living hourglass
I am angry
And I do not want you to conflate it
With a stage of grief
That would depict this as a natural course.
How dare you look at me in grief
I have grieved every day
Watching sand castles sink into the earth
While the tide climbs my neck
I check for monsters under the bed
As no one did for me
And I only find you.
I find your pats on the back
And your apologies
As great a void as your absence.
This is not a calling
This is not a gift for a dying dad
And this is not a kindness
To anybody, anybody but you.