I roll him out to the Water Lilies, break
away one foot at a time. I watch
my father from across the room, bald
head angled up, swaying under eight
by eight feet of psychedelic purples, blues,
and living greens. I read once that water
lilies are always hungry, and I’m thinking
this when my father is pulled out of his
chair into the pond, his morphine pump
drifting away, his body turning, nerves
cooled, smile soft. Poppies cover his skin,
their leaves cocoon him in costume. He
begins to dance among bamboo, reaching for
feathery willows, losing himself in himself
until he realizes he’s all alone, twists his neck
to find a daughter. As the last leaf spins
imperceptibly on the water, my father rotates
his chair around, his face shocked with the
light. He searches for me, a confusion
in his eyes: Why did you leave me? My
red purse ridiculous on his lap.
Janine Certo is a poet and associate professor in the College of Education at Michigan State University. A former public school teacher, she has long advocated for more attention to poetry writing and performance in U.S. schools. Her poems appear in The Endicott Review and The Muddy River Poetry Review. Her work has been supported with a grant from The Spencer Foundation.
