The Last Flower Petal

Black night snow licking

at my toes

daddy’s dead.

The trees bend in reverence

for his passing soul

his corpse still haunts me

quiet and still like a Quaker’s prayer.

I watched six men labor at his coffin

tugging him to an empty mouth

of dirt and snow

I still cry today for my naiveté

I did not know the man

my creator and chief.

I bow now in reverence of his dream

mine to keep like a flower

in an ancient bible