When you were dying
And I had to come back home,
I found one of your old maps
folded neatly on
The woodcarving bench.
You had drawn a mark on it
Where my house is
In the Adirondack mountains.
A little worn pencilmark
That is me,
Standing outside
In the snow at night
Looking back up at you
“Pappa” is a poem by Torunn Aberle, February-2013
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