My Fathers Box

Cold and smooth as I pick you up

Not expecting you to feel like that.

Trying to get closer and touch your hand

I close my eyes and feel your skin

Smooth as a baby seal, yet so thin

touching your hand, your perfect nails,

no signs of a life of hard work, no calluses,

just a hint, your old, don't squeeze too hard.

For a second, just before I open my eyes,

sour, decaying, rotten, smell fills my nose

something that makes me gag and smile at the same time.

I see your face, your smile, your eyes,

Then you're gone and I stare at a box

smooth, cold, black, plastic box

to touch you now would be like touching sand

you would fall through my fingers, and part of you would stay

but I will leave you in that box

So you will never blow away.