Esau said to his father, “Do you have only one blessing, my father? Bless me too, my father!” Then Esau wept aloud.
As he feels the mole above my lip
his senile mind wanders to the escarpment
he sat me to give my first fishing lesson.
He cannot halve the blessing the way
he sliced mangoes further, even further
till he believed he was fair to me.
I stand watching him die, he gives me nothing;
not taking my hand that I hold out for him,
where he had traced lines to places they did not go.
I ask him, don’t you have anything to bless?
His head slides, eyes half open hold me in glance.
When they die even fathers are mortals. Know that.