January Thaw

Steering through slush
wipers can’t clear
the memory of Dad’s face
a perfect form I knew I’d miss
smart clear eyes
I closed after his breath
to kiss the wrinkles
on his forehead

Each time he called for water, for morphine
I forgave a hurt
Oh, caring grows a heart
and now mine might burst
For mom
becoming speechless in her grief
For children on TV
whose earth broke right under their feet
For a couple I pass
huddled in wind while police search their car
Are they guilty
suffering from too much love
like I am
driving too fast
to get home to Joe, the cat
-who lay sick with Dad last summer
just to stroke his honey colored fur
and kiss him
above each gold eye.