I remember how the florescent lights
Washed out all the color from my father’s face.
How small his back looked,
The nursing home was always too quiet.
It’s courtyard muggy in Virginia heat,
Small scraggly weeds growing.
Beneath a petunia tree in full bloom,
My father stood looking,
The pink blossoms against the blue sky
Until dusk turned the upturned blooms into smokey purples and murky blues.
The body of my grandmother lay cooling in the next room.