North Star
Look,
my father murmurs, how
my hand shimmers.
Palsy drew light to him
until it filled his body,
illuminating the long bones
curving around his heart and breath,
drawing shadow limbs
to radiant joints,
until he limned for all the world
some constellation,
my father
telling the dark between stars.
~O~
Almost six feet tall, 129 pounds, my father
may remind you of certain haunting photographs,
Jews stumbling from the gauntlet
of bloodthirst and indifference,
wandering among the skeletal remains
of their lives.
My father is worn to the bone,
one full year
grinding another,
the flesh of his belly collapsing on old scars.
Breath drawn in their wake stars
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