What I Haven't Said

Dear Dad,

You’re 70 and old, yet your presence is still bold.

I don’t want you to die, but time will nevertheless fly.

It makes me sad to think that you’re at your brink.

But it’s not over, not until you get older.

I tell you “I love you” every once in a while,

Yet it lacks the intimacy I want out of your last few miles.

I remember when I was seven, in bed next to you at night.

You were gently snoring, and I was silently crying,

Thinking of how your mortality would one day come.

I’ve been wanting to tell you how much you mean to me

But I can’t get myself to reveal this honesty.

But who knows? Maybe I’ll eventually show you these words,

Although it’s more likely you’ll never know this poem occurred.

It’s quite hard get myself to talk to you about death,

Even though every day brings you closer to your last breath.

It’s just that I don’t want to bring up awkwardness

And I don’t want my face to look grotesque

Because I know I’ll cry in front of you and look like a mess.

Spend your time wisely, Dad; There’s not too much time left.

Living on this earth for so long, I think you can confirm that this is true:

The world won’t wait for me, and neither will it for you.

With those somber words said:

I. Love. You.

Sincerely, your son, Steven Trinh