it’s christmas dad
lend me once more your hand to compare ourselves
among the living people i ever touched
only your hand was bigger

if you want to we can go to the seashore hand in hand
to leap wave after wave together
or you can take me to the puppet theater
where the orange tiger swallows pancakes
while we’re clapping along with our big hands

this year i didn’t grow home bread and
i didn’t burn candles
i simply crouched with half-opened eyes
leaning against high cushions
over a cross scratched with my nails on the bed sheets
lying in wait
fishing like you dad
sometimes hours other times days
go by without any catch
apart from your pale and slippery smile
in the last photograph

dad
why on earth didn’t you put aside the fishing rod