Your Call

You could smell the grief

Cool air like Minnesota in September

Daddy doesn’t want to drive,

You walk eight miles by foot

No brain activity, no pulse 

And twenty Colombians in a room

Doctor, doctor—

Time of death, four minutes till five.

A hospital in the Bronx 

Of course it happened on your call day

The paperwork is yours

The body too

Daddy asks me

What is the right amount of time to grieve?

When they revealed me the tumor

You died for the first time.

I think I will pray tonight.