.
My father
My father
I
After the desired trip,
breathless, tired, sweaty,
I sit
- now in the country -
riser on the "Bishop",
the great staircase:
my father
no longer able to stand,
downloaded from shoulder
leans against the wall.
no longer at home my dad,
as they could,
now that he has the "vice"
to dirty him,
to always fall flat on the ground,
moved from that tremor of your wrist. . .
The Hospice
said yes
empty
made himself a bed.
II
half-closed eyes, with their backs to the wall, floor
dad complains of a distant memory:
He too rested,
thirty years earlier, in bringing my grandfather
in quell'Ospizio . . .
Dim'm thinking
bubbled slow
from his mouth, hoarse.
wakes up suddenly, and attentive,
I shake myself,
resume Tata assumption,
to fast.
Cursed quickly that caught me!
I hear someone say,
thinking aloud:
"Come on, hurry, is the long way home" .
-
Om.De.In., October 8, 1974
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