In the cold air
In the night
In the yard
Seeing my father out there
standing
facing me
with his eyes closed

He pulls down the
oxygen mask on his face
so that it dangles
below his neck

The hospital gown loosely
hangs onto him
Exposing his white chest
just like I last saw him

“Thank you for coming. Thank you so much for being here.” 
He said
and I can still hear it
everyday
in traffic
brushing my teeth
as I lie in bed and wait
for sleep

I didn’t know it at the time
but
those were his last words to me
before the monitors started flashing
the machines started beeping
and the nurses came rushing in
as he closed his eyes

A light switching off
on a living room family portrait
growing increasingly further away
until last words
are all that is left

He says something else now
He says it every day that
I’m here
And I’m trying to but
I still can’t hear it

Over all of this bullshit
that I call myself

but he's always been
standing right in front of me
the whole time.