Consolation:
Hugging your Father upon the Death of his Mother
Brandie Trent
You aim to comfort that grown man of sixty
on the front step of his brick ranch where you
first received the news,
your own children watching through
the steamed up summer windows of the family wagon
Humid and restless.
Sticky and Human.
You wrap your arms around him,
both of your guts in the way,
but you squeeze harder,
maybe that will soften the tremor of his tears.
You see him now as the little boy lost
at a church picnic,
or at the Price Chopper --
searching for his mommy
You step back,
hands still on his shoulders;
he is dirty faced
in a little league cap
and you give him words you never practiced saying:
You did a good job, Dad.
That was perfect timing.
…as though he has hit the ball solid that time.
How strange it is to be the third generation
flipped in a bizarre reversal
consoling your father when he lost his security
And you realize that soon,
you’ll be up to bat.