by Tiffany Coley

Created on: September 09, 2010

Drift Wood

Illness arrived for my father,

a ten foot totem. 

A stack of animals

with a wing span.

“You cannot have him”

my one brave demand.

But beneath the spear beak

of black sea hawk

and triangle snout

of angry she bear,

death sang to my father

a summoning song

all wide and white as painted eyes.

Wolverine on the shoulders

of shadow creatures,

teeth fanning out in all directions.

The yellow spine of a fish skeleton

hung from talons.

“You cannot hurt him”

my one parting wish.

But I was overpowered by

the flickering of ears

the groping of claws

the snarling of antlers

the swirling of Indian flutes

while my father

became hollow,

a piece of chiseled wood

pale upon the pillow.

Drift wood on the pillow.

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