Thanksgiving Day, November 22nd

Another wave of sickness strikes. I’m on my knees over the master bath toilet. Orange-and-brown bile fills water and stains the porcelain rim, along with the painted walls and freshly-washed tile.

Blackness. A slow awakening, questions. How did I get here? Why did I wake up in Dad’s bed?

All I know for sure is the sickness. And the company I’ve abandoned.

brittle leaves
covering the yard
early departures

November 23rd

Grass has grown full and green over Dad’s grave. The monument looks as new as the first day I saw it last summer.

Mom, Rob and I stare in silence. It’s her anniversary — the first without him. She hasn’t shed a tear today —yet.

leafless maples
Interstate traffic noise
drones on

first published in Image Curve, December 3, 2015

photograph by Annie Spratt