Posts Tagged ‘father

16
Dec
09

Mourning The Loss Of The Father I Knew

The world is a vampire; It sucked you dry.
Now you’re doing the same to me.
(Somewhere my twin is walking in sun or splashing in rain;
Meanwhile I can feel myself aging like the portrait of Dorian Gray.)
Every day from the same chair I feel your eyes watching me,
Demanding things without your speaking to ask.
Even when I try to sleep, I can’t get away from you;
You bump into something on your moonlit walk to the kitchen.
I open my eyes and there you are,
Floating through the room like Hamlet’s ghost.
Yes, at night- magically- you’re able to find your own food.
In the daylight hours, you’re content to rely on everyone else.
Where is the father I grew up loving?
How could you have let this happen to us?
We used to play cards and argue about religion.
Now mostly our conversations revolve around your pills and shots.
(How did you ever end up taking so many pills?
Sometimes I have to look out the kitchen window
To see if it’s morning or night so I can tell what pills
You’re supposed to be taking. They all run together.)
We took long walks together, played volleyball Saturday nights.
(You were rarely a gracious winner or loser;
I hate playing on either team.)
Now mostly you sit and I catch you staring into space.
Sometimes you’re listening to an audiobook
Then again sometimes you’re not.
Don’t you ever get bored sitting there
And wonder what life looks like from the couch?
Do you want to go try Voodoo Donuts with bacon?
Don’t you ever just miss yourself?
I’m researching alternative medicine to cure you
And behavior modification.
Trying to get why I care so damned much,
When you don’t care enough
To stand up
To walk across the living room
To see where the bicyclists go when they’re past the window,
Beyond the edge of the world
That exists in your chair.

12
Apr
09

Then He Held Out His Hand

Emerging,
Smilingly,
From the bathroom
My father said,
“Come see what I made
While I was in there.”
Then he held out his hand to show us
The little cat
He’d just finished whittling
From a piece of alder wood.

02
Mar
09

Last

Every day I’m the last kid at school cuz everyone else got picked up.
The last thing at night you say “Sweet dreams” to me.
(If I’m not already asleep.)
I know you work to feed us and to pay the rent and buy shoes.
And you told me, all day while I’m playing, you have grown-up things to do.
But I’m waiting here now like a dropped laundered sock
That some scatter-brained goof left behind.
How can I believe I’m the first in your heart
When I’m clearly last thing on your mind?