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.