Papa

your death was an accident
a man driving drunk,
nothing out of the ordinary here

but you stayed faithful to the end

purposeful even in passing –

rising, bloody and broken, to your knees

the unbroken flow of the sign of the cross,

a prayer to your Father,

and down, to death

your very shoes were flung off
by the force of the impact -

one hit the windshield of a car passing by

a car that didn’t kill anyone

the driver returned it,

a kindness that burns

the other flew off your foot

we don’t know where it went

or who found it

and if they wondered about the owner

long after we buried you