The Rain Gauge

I became the father  
and he the daughter  
grasping my hand  
struggling to walk beyond the steps  
without falling into the wet grass  
after the 2:00 pm rain  
 
He stood in the midst of rising fog  
among the new birth  
of his last spring  
-- his fingers tightening around my hand  
as he bent to check the inches  
of a simple plastic rain gauge  
 
I wanted to catch the drops  
he tossed so effortlessly  
into the yard  
it was as though Holy water  
was spilled, mingled with blood  
from the side of a wounded cough  
as he gasped for breath  
without regard to that little inch  
of rain as having any worth  
i wanted to let him go, grasp  
catch in cupped hands  
tears and sweat, rain and blood,  
but i chose to hold him up first  
accepting whatever was left  
 
I watched it burn the damp grass  
as though a brand sizzling tender skin  
before being claimed by the earth,  
leaving only a stain of what had been  
to dry as though nothing ever was  
 
Thinking there was no second chance  
I silently asked for Father’s Day  
without regard to him or his pain  
 
It came and went with summer’s heat  
and him, barely able to breathe  
 
So when he lay curled in machines  
I silently asked for something again  
though this time  
--not for me.  
 
The hospital halls appeared  
as morgues...endless drawers  
so we took him home to his bed  
where he belonged  
 
The pouring rain of Summer's death  
washed his body of any warmth,  
together they were buried by  
the Fall Equinox    
 
One by one they showed up;  
sloshed through to view  
the peace upon his face  
bringing coffee and cakes  
trying not to smile too hard or laugh  
among themselves seeing how much weight  
cousin Jane had gained  
measuring scandalous mistakes  
family by family to each one's embarrassment  
while wiping the mud off their feet  
(and guilty conscience) all the while  
looking for me, searching vigilantly  
room to room they would call my name  
aghast that I may have left  
my father during his time of need  
as if my holding his hand through death  
meant absolutely nothing.  
 
But I wasn't to be found  
not by them, anyway.  
 
I stood in the dark, beyond the steps  
of a muddy back yard where light never reached  
a silent escapee during the 2:00 am rain  
soaked and alone in a surreal memory  
pouring into a sculpted glass  
Holy Water from a simple plastic rain gauge  
of a second chance.  
 
~