Father

You come to the house at 3 a.m. in the cold.

Your mother greets you at the door with no words,
only pebbles in her mouth.

You walk along the dim hallway
to a small room flooded with light.

It contains twin beds, a dusty mirror, 
fading prints, dark wood.

It contains the end of the world.

There is a ringing in your ears
as you kiss your father for the last time.

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