her american name is lydia.
in greek it’s much prettier:
lee-thee-a.
either way pop leaves monday
for one last visit.
when the tumor was found
they said there wasn’t much time.
and now
a month later
she isn’t talking or eating.
last year I wrote a poem about them:
the last two left of six.
soon he’ll be the only one.
I thought about that today as I rubbed my foot
sitting at the edge of my bed
and felt a new callus on my toe
a wedge of skin made hard by years of standing.
it made me feel old
that I have a callus on my foot.
then I just felt stupid
that something like that would make me feel old
when pop has already buried
two parents, two sisters, and is about to do the third.
I wonder how many calluses my dad’s toes have
how much softness is left
I mean
how much can one person take
when everything that used to be soft
is pressed
until all that’s left is hard and impenetrable.
I never did show my dad that poem
and I probably never will.
I don’t think he needs any more calluses.
Published in Verdad Magazine, 2007
http://verdadmagazine.org/vol3/poetry/starros.html#la
anthonystarros 