My father's hands

He died alone, an early COVID death

His story now one of millions,

but i keep telling it anyway

I should've been holding his hand

That is the grace we all deserve in the end

My father had little grace bestowed upon him

A life of struggle and solitude

A shattered mind, a family abandoned

Hospitals, shelters, jails, the tapestry of his tumbled life

He probably always felt alone

Even when I kissed his cheek and stroked his head in those late stages

Ten years had passed since I left him angry and yelling on a Portland street corner

Maybe he wanted to hide

But when I found him his face lit up, tears in his eyes,

hugging me tightly he said, I've missed you

And it felt like he meant for my entire life.

I've missed you.

The last time I saw him I took his stiff gnarled hand in mine

we sat in silence, words no longer save but I love you

The last thing he ever said to me

The only words he had left

The deepest part of his ocean of grief

Now the deepest part of mine.