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Epiphany at Thirteen

That night, I found the spot
on his old, green recliner
still warm with him,
and sat there for hours
keeping it for when he came home.
Mother returned alone,
ancient at forty-two, his wallet
and wedding band crushed to her heart.
While we cried, I knew the chair 
grew cold, and realized 
that everything warm does,
and fathers die.