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  • Casey Gilmartin

Dad was Running Late

Dad was running late.

I come home from school alone-

My dogs howling excitedly like wolves on a full moon.

The smell of afternoon coffee

The softness of cozy pajamas

The sound of my favorite show.

I hear the door open-

Mom, unusually early.

Her face overcome with sorrow.

Distraught, she reluctantly tells the news.

Nana had died.

Her words were wasps piercing through my heart.

Initial shock leads to a warm embrace

Contrasting with a waterfall of cold, wet tears.

It soon became obvious that dad was not running late.

Instead, driving 4 long, painful, seemingly endless hours

To tell my brother the news.

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