My Father Greets the Day
By Charles Fishman

Each morning he wakens
he praises God

Another day has dawned in him
and he is grateful

He is too old now to make love
but not to remember

My mother’s picture waits
near his bed

and he lifts the frame to his mouth
and kisses her

His loneliness is too deep
—he cannot think the sentences—

but his lips find the glass
and his heart opens

Each day is a miracle
that begins in the region of sorrow

yet the sun finds him: he will live this day

stunned each moment that she
is not with him.


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