The Fit
Spend some time turning The pieces around in your mind: They find their fit Even that odd shape Its sharp edges Slicing your heart Like a lump of veal The plaintive calf cry Bleating beating Defeating your heart The light dawns And you see A key, Not a knife, A door opening: “Your daughter called To see how you made out. She said to say she loves you.” A successful operation A robust recovery For exactly a few hours Then a sudden decline Slow passing Not alone but admitted, Home again. At peace In the interlacing constellations Of memory Raised up, alight, a light, Home again Alive at heart, My heart. I have held this piece a long time Endured the lacerations Because I have loved you, Dad. I have been Waiting, waiting, waiting For time to make the fit.