The Light Above the Grass
I wake up in the morning
And think
People are alive
Making things, children
And apps, they
Are running to one
Another and then my arm
Falls asleep.
Most of the men
Who did not exactly know
They were my father
Are dead
And so
My father keeps
dissolving.
Tonight
Both my sons are sleeping
At their mom’s apartment.
I can’t always feel
My legs
But I don’t want to tell
Anyone. I’m so afraid
Of everything.
When I called Mary
to ask her how Ralph died
I ended up calling Mary
To tell her that Ralph died.
I think I can pretend
To be a person for
Maybe only a few more years.
And after that,
The moon is just going to
Have to defend itself,
The shadows
In the tall grass are just
Going to have to learn
How to self-soothe.
My sons will just have
To learn something
About fathers
Who leave without knowing
They are leaving.
|Whether I’m here,
Not being able to feel
My face,
Or not here and my face
Is just the light above the grass.
by Matthew Dickman
from National Poetry Library