Ten Years Old

Dad has been dead for two years now
as my ten-year-old brain
struggles to understand
what death is.

I imagine I see him sometimes
on the street, walking briskly
carrying a folded newspaper,
hiding his face from us.

Why did he leave us?
Something I did?
My little brain can barely
comprehend life,
let alone death?

Dying?
What the hell is that?
He’s gone, and two years later
I still can’t understand why.

I miss his unshaven cheeks
scratching me when he hugs me,
his eyes smiling into mine.
He is gone from this world
yet his presence remains
hints of another life
another existence
beyond my
understanding.