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 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.