GENESIS

In the beginning, my father tread the water of his life with chin high.

Then his voice drained, became shallow enough 

to stand up in. Eventually he had to sit down.

Death is a careless thief.

It takes everything except what’s killing you.

The last time I saw my father conscious

he looked at me like I was a ghost

haunting his bedside. Even then, half-gone,

we still had the same nose. As if to divide

my blood from his I repeated my name 

on a loop, hoping it would register 

in the part of his body that still remembered 

creating me. 

Our parents create us, but we also create our parents.

It wasn’t until my father forgot my silhouette 

that I was able to complete his features. 

Months later, peering into the blue lake 

where I drowned his ashes

I can finally see who he was.