WANING CRESCENT MOON, 14 DAYS LEFT
Dylan, April and I walk through the park,
the sun, full and pink,
they chatter about the AIDS Walk,
how they can’t wait to be part of it,
my heart sinks a little,
thinking about May.
How can they look forward
to walking with other people
when Dad might not be alive?
Would he even want us to walk?
Show our pride?
Is he proud?
When April and I come through the door,
Dad’s smile couldn’t be bigger—
his face looks almost round.
Three envelopes in his hands:
Kenyon, Bowdoin, Dickinson.
We tear them open together,
like kids at a birthday party.
Everything else fades away
Dad beams
the sun sets
leaving a wake of bright pink
in the silvery spring sky.