a letter to someone long gone

dear father,

the shuffling of your feet 

across the carpet,

scuffle,

scuffle;

reminds me not to weep

although it's hard,

muffle,

muffle. 

you shuffle because the feat of lifting your feet

requires the mustering of strength long gone.

no matter, though -- 

i long to hear the sound right next to me,

at my wedding, as i match your rhythm:

scuffle,

scuffle,

down the aisle; an unrealistic expectation.

i muffle the sounds of the tears that i cannot produce,

that the hollow cavities in me

a c h e  to echo, yet --

i continue avoiding eye contact and

limiting conversation, terse replies as i

muffle,

muffle,

looking at the body of a father, mentally long gone.

overtaken, by riddling lung cancer that crippled you,

as well as i,

leaving the both of us unable to breathe. 

love,

your only daughter.