This sonnet is a substitute for the original blog, which Fio accidentally posted again a week later. She hopes she hasn't run it before.
Nursing Home Visit
He sleeps, but does he dream, my father? When
I visit twice a week, he wakes with eyes
near blind and looks, then nods to sleep again.
He sees my shape, but does not recognize
his oldest child, his baby girl all grown,
who shouts her name into his better ear,
who warms his death-cold hands within her own,
who scrubs the crusted food from off his chair.
Father beloved, where have you gone? You sleep,
but do you dream? I kiss his innocent face,
smooth back his unkempt hair, loudly repeat
my name again, and pray to God for grace
that he may dream within his cobwebbed brain
of righteous battles won and dragons slain.
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