“Loss (on Father’s Day)” by Marianne Worthington

I watch for keen blue lines
on the legs, the arms, the penis,
forerunners that speak my name.
I am not grim, never angry, no
angel. Just the one to deliver
a crippled body back to dirt.
I am the sigh in the corner
of a sick room, the rattle
in the breath.

-Marianne Worthington

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