Parents
by Steven Skinner

I felt his death coming for years
the way you can be under
flourescent lights in a library
with no windows, reading
some bright page, and gradually
feel the sky outside
invisibly cloud over. But I remember
those last few times before his fall
how they would be standing in the driveway
waving goodbye again, how they lit up
for a moment, suddenly not old but just
themselves, his arm around her, cheering us on,
cheering for life itself as we drove away.