I stumbled from my bed, still in a doze,
To find you like a statue by the fridge.
Gold light as though from heaven’s ledge
Lit up each soft and curving part of you–sans clothes–
So that the whole of you became a star
Against the yawning kitchen’s starless black.
The whiteness of your thighs! Your shoulder’s slack
And sloping line. Pale throat. Appendicitis scar.
And roundness that I never knew you had,
Your body shadow-slivered by fake moons,
An image bright as cloudless afternoons.
Oh how I wish I’d never seen you like that, dad.