PAPA JOHN

He'd sit like a king, on his throne at the table,
Laughing, and talking, and issuing orders -
Us, like the teens we still were
When with him.

Time often stood still in the kitchen, there,
The confusion churning
In our heads,
In our hearts.

Churning like the tide, rolling in, rolling out.
Thrusting us forward,
Then shoving us back.
Impossible to stay in one place, in one time.

He'd sit like a king, on his throne at the table,
But the throne is now gone
Like the king who sat on it
And we, in the kingdom, still grieve.