Papa is Dead

(to my grandfather, who died while I had a fever of a hundred and two.)

Open, squinting,

Vision’s swimming

Chills are setting in my bones, and aching,

Head feel’s like it’s splitting, breaking

Voices ringing, thermometer singing in my head…

And Papa—

Papa is dead.

Gone…

Gone…

And Gwendolyn was wrong.

Oh my friend, the queen…

The walls are blinking!

Where’s Papa?

Gwendolyn—no!

Don’t go, not alone!

I see him following you,

And—

Do I want more water? Yes, but—

Water…

The stream by Papa’s house was dirty—

Ducklings learning how to swim—

And him.

Papa—

Oh god, Papa’s gone!

But Gwendolyn stands by the sea—

Cornered like an animal, and he

Is closing in…she steps through the mist, and she’s

Falling—

To her death in the granite waves below,

Sinking

Slowly

Not feeling the waves

Breaking

Over her bloodless

Face

My face is burning,

Turning around, the walls swim before me,

I fall to my knees,

God! The fever’s winning—

Ceiling’s grinning—

Swimming…

Gwendolyn lies on the soles of the ocean’s feet

Raven hair so neatly

Floating across her abalone face—

Drowned with her eyes wide shut…

And what

Has become of her locket?

The locket—

The locket hung around my neck as Papa

Gave the nurse heck

Because his room was too depressing,

And his yellow-white hair

Was combed back from his

School-book-blue eyes and this

Memory never happened.

Wish I could

Wake myself with a snap and—

Wish to God that I could die too.

Because my fever’s broken ,

But I—

Wish that I could have just one token

That would remind my mind to—

Rewind the wind and—

Tell myself that—

Papa is dead.