Pay close attention to Ed Madden’s poem about an invalid father; the speaker reveals perhaps more than he intends to.
—
When my father woke
When my father woke, he called out,
and my mother rose from her bed,
asked him what he wanted, said
she was there. I was at the door.
When my father woke, he called out,
and I heard him from the kitchen,
lingering over my coffee, having
fed the cat, having eaten my oatmeal,
having watched the birds beneath
the kitchen window, the fidget
and dither of three-lined sparrows
flipping through the dead leaves.
When my father woke, he called out,
and my mother rose from her bed,
quickly, never knowing, asked him
what he wanted, said she was there.
Sometimes it took a moment
for him to reply.
Sometimes it was urgent.
Sometimes he was hungry.
When my father woke, he called out,
and sometimes I was there before
my mother woke, doing what
he needed to be done.
When my father woke, he called out,
and my mother rose from her bed,
coming to his side, like the sun
lifting in the east, and the day
began, revolving around him,
and we hovered near his bed
in our small orbits, our small
impermanent orbits.
***
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