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Carmine Giordano
Yahrzeit
My father’s skin was lavender and rose
the Thursday, Friday before he died
a year ago, November.
His eyes were teal and glistened.
His brushed hair bristled auburn.
He had come back from wandering
the paint-needing halls
where we had lost him,
and spoke love words gleaming
like grass in that fluorescent light
before the day goes.
A few days later, late into night,
he left us, colorless and white.
Wandering in my car today
across a New England October day,
I was startled through the glass
by a stripe of lavender and rose
across some auburn autumn hills
burnishing in a green of sunset sky
and, stopped in this surprise,
I sat there long,
remembering his love
and the love of the seasons passed.
I remembered these until dark.
Then head beamed homeward,
colorless and white,
through the absolute night.
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