Catalpa Lane

I saw him there, not who he used to be,

crumpled in the sheets he blended into,

a simple mass of a complicated man.

Perched in a circular frame,

terracotta angels dancing ‘round,

a dusty fourth grade photo of our now 18 year old.

Still blonde, still smiling.

This sister of mine, across from me,

our dad, in between,

sharing total confusion as to how time sped us to a place

we never planned to go.

Mail continues to be delivered,

bills with deadlines to exceed his life,

and I wonder how do I make sense?