6am

6am.
I wake; to the vibrations of my alarm clock
I fumble with its buttons,
pressing snooze, by mistake, on purpose.

I dream of my father - a dream in which we know he's about to die
And joke about his funeral,
And his illness like they are funny
Like they are punchlines
Not deadlines.

7am
My alarm wakes me again,
the sun is setting fire to my apartment wall.
I am asleep.
I want to be asleep,
I clench my eyes shut and try to recreate the moment,
Pull the covers over my head
block out time passing.

It is the past -
it is a world of family and love,
And infinite possibilites.
Where the future holds hope,
hope of my father holding my hand on my wedding day,
or holding his grandchild,
or his cup of coffee on a cool spring morning.

Of holding onto life, of witnessing it,

But despite my best efforts, the world is not in my dreams
And I must face the day - not clench my eyelids,
tap my heels
whispering
"There's no place like home."