Father, Age 34

Father, Age 34
By John Clifford

Flannel pajamas, softened out of form
by the rub and press of bed,
hung limply on the fragile shell
of tuberculosis,
in the time before the cure,
when hope dared not exceed
the borders of the day.

Tenderness and gentle love;
fear and hardness in the throat
for sights grown dear:
the slack in soft pajamas.

He smiled,
tried a little joke,
and slowly
returned to his bed,
pretending not to know
how long the night would be.