on the death of my father

I have forgiven you
for dying;
but only because
you asked.

Only because
you forgave me
for breaking the head off the bishop
from your favourite chess set
since it was an accident.
You didn't mean
to die;
just as my friend Katie
didn't mean
to break my telescope.
You forgave her,
too;
with that grace
I always strove for.

You didn't mean
to leave us,
to abandon us.

You meant to be there
for your grandson's birth.
You meant to be there
for my graduation.
Broken promises.

Perhaps this forgiveness
means I have found
that grace
I always strove for.
Perhaps I have forgiven you
for dying,
only because
you taught me how.