Like the moon that night, my father —
         a distant body, white and luminous.
How small I was back then,
         looking up as if from dark earth.

Distant, his body white and luminous, 
         my father stood in the doorway.
Looking up as if from dark earth,
         I saw him outlined in a scrim of light.

My father stood in the doorway
         as if to watch over me as I dreamed.
When I saw him outlined — a scrim of light —
         he was already waning, turning to go.

Once, he watched over me as I dreamed.
         How small I was. Back then, 
he was already turning to go, waning
         like the moon that night — my father.

Natasha Trethewey, "Rotation" from Thrall. Copyright © 2012 by Natasha Trethewey.  Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.
Source: Thrall (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2012)
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