by Rhoda Hassman
Ontario, Canada

I want to go home,
said my Dad,
just one more time before I die
to Scotland

his face grey against the window
sky just darkening
hands trembling on his blue pyjamas
eyes blurred and milky

I can't take you to Scotland, Dad, I said
but Saturday I'll come
and take you to the water

Saturday I came, dressed him
in an old flannel shirt and jeans
stuffed his feet into slippers
took him to the harbour

We sat, the bench grew colder
gulls screeched away from us
I put my jacket around him, then my arm
we stared at the boats, as the pink dusk
engulfed us

When we left, Dad said, Thanks,
it was nice to see Scotland again

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