He was standing at the end of my bed
on my left side in that tan shirt, brown
pants, brown belt and shoes. With that
grin reassuring and unnerving.
“Dad?” He’d been dead 32 years and I
was in a hospital. A disturbing
surprise; he didn’t say anything and
disappeared. And I was thinking of
conclusions of a thousand choices I
didn’t know I had made and how they now
presented themselves as inevitable.
The way I was of him, my children of me,
the stories I told, how the past had come
to here and now and how the future
would come out of every here and now
and how all I wanted was to get well
enough to leave but not before my time
thinking how time and eternity like
a double-entendre and how careful
I should be in choosing what I say
and do and looked again to make sure
Dad had left alone.
-Byron Hoot
hootism: one little bite can change everything.
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