Public Republic

By Therese Halscheid

Photo: Kamen Ferdinandov

father’s view

Do not force me to want these
shadowy doctors
and faint strangers
or look anymore
at their leaning over,
not when I can open my eyes inward

not while I watch, in sleep,
the forgotten films, hours of old reels
of my life replaying.

There is my wife again
and me, with my daughter ─
we are in the Volkswagen
riding the scenic limbs of my body
as if on a highway.

It’s blossom time,
cherry petals all off the trees
see through the window
our hair blown by the repetitive wind
which is actually the air
from my breath, the very inhale
that keeps this image alive,
the drive going.