Read Poem: WHAT NEEDED TO BE DONE, by Michael Foldes

When my father died I dressed
in the clothes I had on
and waited with my
mother for the crematory staff
to come and take his body,
stiff but no longer sore,
cooling, but not yet cold.
When my father died
I pulled the arrow
from beneath his wing
saw the blood seep
onto his red feathers
before he flew away
skittering along,
for he could rise
no higher searching
for a safe place,
and I wept for him
and for myself.
When my father died
I pulled the trigger
that sent the shot
into the bare limbs
where sparrows
land in spring,
to rest,
and shelter.
When my father died
I pulled the hook
from his taut lip,
slit his belly,
slid my finger
up his opened gut,
pulled out his heart,
laid it in ground
moist with piss
and ate the flesh.
I heard the steel drum beat once
when my father died,
carried him
to the high grass,
dug a shallow
grave in the rain,
gave him
his last rites
and left his bones
to dry.
When my father died I saw
his body take three shots
rolling away with each
as if leaping out
of harm’s way,
but the damage was done.
his meat was inedible,
his pelt, like his death
of no value.
When my father died
his body went to heaven
but I don’t know where
his soul went
because I didn’t see it
leave.
When my father died
I saw his body
on the altar
and knew his soul
was already in heaven.
When my father died
his grandsons dug
his grave.
When my father died
the cannons fired,
the flags waved,
the doves flew,
and the night wore
sequins on her dress.
When my father died
I cut the grapes
and made the wine.
When my father died
I moved on
but never left.
When my father died
I heard the heart
within give up.
And when my fathers
all had died
I was left
to clean up
what was needed
to be done,
and did,
but how the years
flew by.

About poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film.
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