like the pieta

thunder and lightning
break into my room
waking me to a dream where
my brother shows me
a growth on his stomach

“that’s a barnacle” i tell him
and we pick through its outer layer
uncovering the night in august
we helped our father dress
for what was to be his last concert
and how he couldn’t finish it
and driving him home from valhalla
i look in the rearview mirror to see
my father in his tuxedo lying across the back seat
and my mother holding him