With John Sick, I Think of My Father in the Hospital

He looks young again,

a flare of pink on his white face.

He once said his life meant nothing.

And here is that woman who pushes

a wheelchair into my father’s room,

“My mistake. Don’t know where we’re going.”

And the man slumped in the chair,

“I do,” he laughs and lifts his foot,

flashing toenails painted red.

My father says, “I just want to sleep.”

His eyelids flutter. He tells me

he’s dreaming of his mother.

She is waiting by the side of a road.

It is raining. He hears the sound

of rain falling on her umbrella.

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The John and Mim Poems is a portrait of a marriage and Miriam Levine’s gift to you.