By Diane Webster
Dad hangs a vacancy sign
around his neck so I call
to get information.
“Well, I’m still alive
and kicking,”
so the building is solid,
but nobody’s home.
All electrical outlets
are empty behind switch plates.
No knobs control
heat/air conditioning.
Last tenant removed
cupboard handles and none
of the doors lock anymore.
But my dad still lives here,
a superintendent
for a vacant building.
Why didn’t Dad forget to die?
If it was mind over matter,
matter (body) won.
Dementia frayed his synapses
until you could see
lighter spark trying to fire
kindling into full blaze
but failing
so Dad curled
into himself, fetal ball
with no expectations,
serving his time.
Darkness into light
in final push out,
final moment of lucidity
when he decided it was time
to go before he forgot again.
Diane Webster’s goal is to remain open to poetry ideas in everyday life, nature or an overheard phrase and to write. Many nights she falls asleep juggling images to fit into a poem. Her work has appeared in “Philadelphia Poets,” “Home Planet News Online,” “Better Than Starbucks” and other literary magazines.