Dad’s Coma
My father is on his last breath,
a crowd of friends and family
huddle around,
watching him go down
death’s spiral,
unable to wake up
from a permanent dream
His lungs move in and out like
a wheezy accordion,
his lips pop with each expulsion
of breath
Once I thought,
he was invincible
Now watching him,
he could barely lift a finger
Time has changed
the most vibrant of our lives
My memory of my father,
soon to be an old photograph,
stuck in a family album,
deep in a closet of lost souls.
© Mark Tulin
Mark Tulin is a former family therapist from Philadelphia. He is a Pushcart nominee and Best of Drabble. His books are Magical Yogis, Awkward Grace, and The Asthmatic Kid and Other Stories, Junkyard Souls, Rain on Cabrillo. His writing credits include New Readers Magazine, Still Point Journal, Fiction on the Web, Vita Brevis Magazine, and others. Follow Mark at www.crowonthewire.com.
The Loch Raven Review 