← v18n2, Fall 2019
Poetry · Volume 18, Number 2

Shadow

In the dream last night, my father

rose from his chair and walked toward me.

How trim he looked, the weight he’d carried

near the end, gone. He pointed to the water

pooling at the carpet’s edge, explained

the necessities of plumbing; the pipes

burst from aging. Even the ceiling,

an intricate stain mapping the rain’s

abiding passage. The last time

I saw him, he and my mother waved as they

pulled away, car windows down, late summer

and the soft chill: a shadow already burning

on the underside of morning.