Mark Zegarelli
Mark Zegarelli


All through the night his son lay with fever

The father sat in his chair

While his wife and daughter

Hushed in urgency

Carried water bowls and blankets

Up and down the stairs.

When the nurse arrived he did not move

As she followed them up to the boy’s room.

Then the doctor.

Still he did not stray

And while the clock ticked on the mantle

He sat there stiller than stillness.

Sat while the cries rose in crescendos

Then fell and filled the house with moans.

He sat there all night

Till there was no sound left

Then lifted himself from his chair

Opened the door to the morning chill

And stepped outside.