no (ex)changes

blood drains from my face. i keep driving.

he’s home from hospital. stage four colon cancer. his 70th birthday gift. no refunds or exchanges. he’s asked for help to get final affairs in order. watch over his children that aren’t. children.

feels as i’ve been punched in the gut and there is no breath. i keep driving.

stopping i stare at the trees transfixed. they are the same, almost screaming how much more important they are to the earth than him. don’t want to get out. can feel he’s gone.

children want re/assurance. i want something else.

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