The Dream of my Father

One month to the day
is when I finally dream of him alive
not counting half-awake forgetfulness
I should tell Dad about

We are both in hospital sharing a room
perhaps it is another accident
my reasons are vague, the mild, hopeful complaints
of hospital dramas where the patient goes home

And I cannot remember our conversations
In the dream, I can’t remember how I got there
which sounds like something serious, actually

Dad and I actually talked, five or six weeks ago
about how tired he was of the hospital
I recalled my own stay, the connection
even I knew was limited – but all I could offer
I almost got away with it. He grinned 
“but you were getting better.”

He didn’t know what kind of body to expect
he just hoped for legs that worked.

And it’s only when I wake up
that I remember Dad is gone
from the hospital for good
Dad is gone for good.