Travelling and Waiting

Travelling and Waiting

“We are only waiting, aren’t we?”

“Pretty much” I reply, noticing

but not commenting on the

loud irony of his question.

Late afternoon,  sun streaming in

making every thing gold and warm

and strangely safe.

An old man on the couch who has stopped trying

to pretend  that he wants supper

                  that he will sleep soundly tonight

                  that the golf on TV is important

                  that tomorrow will be better

                  that he remembers my name

Decades dissolve into the tenderness of just touching his hand

My father is here.   We are both here.

But also far from here

Travelling along that golden light

To the place where we stop waiting

And he moves on ahead.

                                              ~ Dianne