ASLEEP LOOKING by Duane L. Herrmann

 

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.

© Duane L. Herrmann

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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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