By Douglas J. Lanzo
Copyright 2022

First published in Founder’s Favourites Issue 21 (December, 2022)

Dedicated to my late father, Jim Lanzo

He craned his neck forward
to hear my words,
barely conscious,
so beyond hope
the doctor would not deign  
to offer a prognosis.

Stranded halfway across the country
from his makeshift hospital bed,
unaware he was even in distress
until it was too late.

Medivacked by helicopter
to the third hospital on their list;
unable to open his eyes,
morphined to cloak the pain.

Unable to hold his hand
or look upon him,
the nurse told me
it might be for the better —
that I would want
to remember him another way.

Picturing…
his tossing out a wiffle ball,
a young kid smiling
as he runs around the bases;

Feeling…
the earthiness of
the nighcrawlers, as we till
our farmland garden,
prelude to a coveted trip,
to our local fishing hole;

Smelling…
cinnamon in apple cider
as he drives my sister and I
to our pond’s edge,
giggling in excitement
as we put on our skates;

Tasting
juicy raspberries
plucked fresh off
a garden bush,
melting with freshness
across my sun-soaked face;

Hearing…
his voice cheering
as I follow in his footsteps
a cross-country runner
heading down the stretch,
basking in the race.

With all of this,
flowing through me,
I shared my love –
told him how I felt.

He could not respond
in words, but the nurse
later told me,
that he did crane his neck;
shortly after, he closed his eyes
for a long rest, at peace.