high winds
skittering along the street
milk cartons
© Rachel Green November 2023
I phoned the hospital at six
to chect the condition of my father
and the nurse said "He's very poorly."
at seven my sister phoned
to tell me he had died.
It didn't matter that it would take me
two hours to drive to the hospital
so I would have missed his last, laboured breath;
I should have gone anyway
to offer my sister a shared space
for out mutual loss.
Instead I went out with my friends
playing Dungeons and Dragons to stave off
the inescapable frief.
© Rachel Green November 2023
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