Fact or Fiction
- sarabahramand
- May 19, 2021
- 1 min read
Dad,
Love is your forte.
You smell like breakfast,
and arts and crafts.
You dance with Mom
Under kitchen lights,
Having the time of your life.
And when it’s time
To pack us lunch,
You eagerly draw, everyday,
Stick figures on paper bags.
Dad,
Your bones are getting brittle
And your nerves are decaying.
You desperately scramble
To make us smile, laugh,
In any way you know how.
Until your voice gives out,
Until your hands do too.
Until you can’t draw
Stick figures on paper bags.
Dad,
Don’t you know?
You can rest
Your restless bones.
We’ll love you
Even when your voice goes.
Even when your hands do too.
Even when you can’t draw,
We’ll draw those stick figures
On brittle brown paper bags
We’ll do it for you
Like you did for us.
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