by Natasha Trethewey

Natasha Trethewey

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.


Last updated May 12, 2023