While I awoke to sweat, stress and a raw heart,
Dad made breakfast in a once-blue bathrobe.
His quiet concentration of prayer and tiredness
were hemispheres to mirror the morning Earth.
He joined ancient Hebrew texts with the American
tradition of employment, then unemployment.
He purified his heart over oatmeal and fruit—
a heart, whole, like a bread advertisement.
Early, I fought brokenness with only cold water.
God forgive my slowness in understanding him.
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