I wonder what my father saw as his
heart decided to attack. Did betrayal
flash through his mind? Family gave
up first. His body followed in suit.
Whose face came first?
Mine or my brothers? Gods or the devils?
Or just his own in the mirror hanging
on the empty white washed room he
lay in. Which was a sharper slap?
The spasms of his hearts last pulse
or his daughter’s indifference?
Was his heart black and shriveled
like a raisin? Or blue and bruised
like the bump from a clumsy fall?
Did his eyes bulge in surprise?
Or did he know that this would be
the last strum of his hearts chord.
I hope he wasn’t alone. I hope
Christ was tacked on that empty
wall and shed a tear. Or at least
muttered a few words of forgiveness.
Because God  knows he needed it,
God knows I need it.