28.02.2023

The day my dad died

I ate my breakfast quietly 

No Podcast, nor music

There were no radishes for my tartine 

Afterwards, 

I showered 

Shaved my legs and washed my hair

The day my dad died

There were so many calls to make

The rabbi wanted me to write something up for the funeral

I couldn't remember my parents' anniversary

The afternoon of the day my dad died

I sewed shut the broken zipper on the side of a skirt

Put new laces in

My black shoes

Got the mail

Wrote a grocery list

On the evening of the day my dad died

There would be no seven o'clock

"How was your day?" 

Nor "Did you eat any dinner?"

And no "I love you"s

The day after my dad died

We buried him

I watched it all on zoom

Men respectfully covered his grave 

From a mound of dry, grey soil 

The Rabbi spoke of my dad's smile

Intoned prayers

Bade me tear my clothes

All the while

The dishwasher purposefully hummed from the other room.

An apple core oxidised on the table before me

And outside my window

A few white flakes fell from a 

High, grey sky.