As I reach down to shake awake my sleeping father,
his 4 o’clock pills rattling like dice in my left hand, 
I don’t know which father he’ll be. He may startle awake, 
and know me, and be my Dad—though not the scolding dad 
I dodged all my life till dementia gentled him—not that dad, 
never anymore that disappointed dad whom I’m surprised to miss. 
Or I might lightly touch his shoulder, then gently prod it, whispering 
Dad Dad, then shake it with a little vigor till he rouses groggily, 
gumming the air with strangled sounds not quite words, not knowing 
this room in this house he bought thirty-some years ago, not knowing 
me—he might not be my Dad. In this moment, still asleep as I reach 
for him, he is both Dad and not-Dad: he’s Schrödinger’s dad. 
And I am my own stepsister. 
And nobody gets to be god.

Jessica Goodfellow’s books are Whiteout (University of Alaska Press, 2017), Mendeleev’s Mandala (2015) and The Insomniac’s Weather Report (2014).  Her work has appeared in Best American Poetry, Scientific American, The Southern Review, and Verse Daily. A former writer-in-residence at Denali National Park and Preserve, Jessica lives in Japan.