Feeding My Father

in our age or in theirs or in their deaths
saying it to them or not saying it –
if we forgive our fathers what is left
~excerpt from “forgiving our fathers,” by Dick Lourie

When Lewy
bodies in his brain
locked his arm midair,
I lifted the forkful
of eggs to his open lips.

My mouth opened too,
the way mothers’ mouths do
while feeding their infants.
The unexpected gift—
I found the truth:

we are all gaping.
I finally forgave him
for forgiving himself
for everything he did
and could not do.