the specific sadness of my father’s legs laid bare
my father’s legs
bent together knees left
wasted bony
too long to lie straight
in the hospital bed
shins covered with claret bruises
his feet in blue protective booties
heels hidden by white dressings
his skin too thin
to take all the lying around
after visiting hours
my sister and I
apply pressure to
our own open wounds
with a bottle of red
