after a soak in epsom and hot water
I study the calluses, the toenails, the shape of his feet,
so identical to my own and I am startled,
though I know my heritage and this truth and I always have.
He is slightly tense, but I shake his legs gently
as my hands enclose his calves and massage his feet,
teasing him to relax.
I have a moment of shocking clarity...
...when Christ looks out of my eyes at
my father,
as I wash his feet.
my father,
as I wash his feet.
***
My sister and I take books off the shelves
as we keep up a running patter of
harassment of each other,
harassment of each other,
self-deprecation, and
joking with our daddy
I play Tetris in the boxes,
as I carefully fit a fairly small sample of
my parents' books into them
for the journey to my home
We both insist our father stay seated
so that he doesn't do more or do too much,
as he always does.
We relay the boxes to the car,
marveling at our 50 plus year old backs
that are complaining vigorously
about our efforts
Daddy studies the newly empty shelves,
plotting their renewal.
I watch my precious father as I wonder if
the impromptu pedi and
the moment of spiritual connection
is reinvigorating him.
Did he feel it too?
***
At home, I consider my shelves,
and the boxes of books.
My parents' spirits gently
expand into my home,
expand into my home,
like they never have been
(allowed to)
(allowed to)
since I was 18.