I cannot read this without my eyes doing weird things. Both of these poems have to do with fathers, but the reason I like this one so much is not because I have shared similar experiences, it just captures a somewhat tragic aspect of living in a very elegant way.
Lay Back the Darkness:
My father in the night shuffling from room to room on an obscure mission through the hallway. Help me, spirits, to penetrate his dream and ease his restless passage. Lay back the darkness for a salesman who could charm everything but the shadows, an immigrant who stands on the threshold of a vast night without his walker or his cane and cannot remember what he meant to say, though his right arm is raised, as if in prophecy, while his left shakes uselessly in warning. My father in the night shuffling from room to room is no longer a father or a husband or a son, but a boy standing on the edge of a forest listening to the distant cry of wolves, to wild dogs, to primitive wingbeats shuddering in the treetops. - Edward Hirsch