You would think that when you have had
three fathers they would have had
the decency to die in the order in which
they came into your life, that is, after all,
the natural order of things or the logical one.
My original, who I found more than two decades
after he finally found peace in 1987 is nothing
more that an old group picture and a passing
glimpse in the morning mirror, nothing more
despite making me half of who I am today.
The second was the first to go, leaving
when I was two, the faintest of memories
and a few old black and white photos
and a laminated, faded obituary, by far
the youngest his heart failing him at 37.
The third, in my life the longest, faded
slowly, his mind dying in small increments
his body finally conceding at age ninety.
We never did things logically in my families
but my two mothers at least honored
the logic of departing in the order they
had entered my life,for one however briefly.