My Father, at 92
by Anne Higgins
At two o’clock today he declared
“Well, it’s time to go.”
Where?” I asked
Where?” my blind and deaf mother asked.
“Home.”
”But you are home.” we said.
“You’ve been living here eight years,” I said.
“since you were eighty-four.”
My father, now unsteady on your feet,
you don’t remember your location, your wallet, your keys,
but you do remember
when I ran out in front of
oncoming traffic one day,
after kindergarten.
You were on the other side of the street.
You said it was because I was
already nearsighted
and no one knew it yet.
I recall
it was because
I didn’t notice the oncoming traffic –
All I saw was you,
YOU, I saw clearly,
and still do,
standing on the other side of the street,
waiting for me.
