2 Horatio

she told me years ago her mother,
his daughter, told her she heard,
at eight, quarantined with him,
his last choked breaths,
heard the rattle, when the mouth
can’t swallow its own saliva.
That would have been enough for me
never to mention, never to want to,
had I been there. As, for some reason,
I want to imagine my father was.
How full silence must be,
that so little is remembered.
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