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| Ngân Dương |
ASLEEP LOOKING
My father lying there
asleep, it appeared
he would arise a moment
say, “How are you?”
then go about his day.
For sixteen years, it had been so,
but this day I did know
would never be the same,
no more hugs or smiles,
or kind words.
I knew.
My world would change
in ways I could not know
with repercussions far,
far beyond his leaving.
This would be the last
I would see.
Could I hug him?
I did not know
if I could touch.
In some ways, I’m relieved
not to know
the touch of cold skin,
hardened body
of the man I didn’t know
I loved so much and buried him the next day.
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| Duane L. Herrmann |
With degrees in Education and History, Duane L. Herrmann has work published in print and online, in fifty-plus anthologies, over one hundred other publications (Gonzo Press, Tiny Seed Literary Journal, Page and Spine, etc), plus a sci fi novel, eight collections of poetry, a local history, stories for children, a book on fasting and other works, despite an abusive childhood with dyslexia, ADHD, cyclothymia, an anxiety disorder, a form of Mutism, and now, PTSD.
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