For Gerry Dokka

[smibbo]

When you were dying,
I wrote you poems and letters
But when I came to see you,
Thin, wrinkled and tired,
I only held your hand
Fed you strawberries
And put lotion on your dried-out skin.
Giving to you all the love and attention I had,
Never enough in my hands,
To match what you gave to me,
All those years ago.

When you were dying,
I posted all my thoughts and feelings,
But when I talked about you,
Scared, immobile and frail,
I only had spare words,
Short snapshots
And terse paragraphs to paint the picture of my heart.
Giving you all the honor and respect I had,
Never enough in my mind,
To match what you gave to me,
All those years ago.

When you were dying,
I wept a torrent of tears,
But when I saw your coffin,
Shiny, sleek and beautiful,
I only caught my breath,
Held my grief,
And modulated my speech to the rhythm of our blood.
Giving you all the dignity and pride I had,
Never enough in my life
To match what you gave to me
All those years ago.

After you were dead,
I waited for my feelings,
But when I felt your absence,
Long, sharp and painful,
I only had a stab,
Dark and awesome,
And doubled over from my loss to the sobs of my mourning.
Giving you all the fierceness and honesty I had,
Never enough in my hurt
To match what you gave to me
All those years ago.