I sang to my father
as he slept on his deathbed
in the family living room
while we were holding a vigil
the night before he passed away.
He had not spoken a word in days at that point –
cancer-ridden, organs collapsing, high on morphine –
but I sensed he could still hear me.
I sang a song
from a book I’d written years earlier
during a highly inspired period in my life,
and this, being a particularly ominous time,
seemed like the right moment
to try and balance the dualistic energies at work.
I don’t remember giving
such metaphysical concepts
that much consideration at the time;
I was just sad
and desired to sing,
wanting my stoic dad
to hear a voice
that mirrored his own
in a deep bass tone.
I sang a song called “Home,”
belting it out with all my soul
as a goodbye note
to the most important person
I have ever known.