my father was a loud, confused man.

how did it happen that he woke up one day

and had a wife and four kids

and a ton of responsibility?

how does it ever happen?

he walked around like a thunder cloud,

most often there was a storm in our house.

at the dinner table, the loaf of bread would

diminish to the heels, the end slices.

he would tell us, ‘eat it, it’s still good bread!’

we made faces like prunes, and whined:

‘I don’ wanna eat the heel!’

with his lightning tongue, he would respond

‘well, f*ck, then I’ll eat it!’

my mother would calmly say, ‘would you watch your

language, please.’ she was a small woman, made

hard by the struggles that are common to mothers.

when he got sick, he became weak as a puppy.

my mother became a lion, as she cared for him

over his few remaining weeks.

after he died, there was an unfamiliar peace in the

house. we sensed there would never be another storm,

and it was uncomfortable.

the last time I went to his grave,

it was raining…