today  we had
chocolate cake
for breakfast

the really deep fudgy type
the one that the taste stays
in your mouth for a long time after
so that you still think you
are eating chocolate two hour late

the type your mum used to make
and have waiting for you after school
sitting there on the table, with a glass
of cold fresh milk, the type that made
the worst day of schoolyard politics
be forgotten as you took that first bite

that is what we had for breakfast today
that sort of chocolate cake.....
I can still taste it now.....

I was raised by a mentally ill father.
Because there is comfort in numbers,
I, too, was afflicted by a similar disorder.
It’s difficult to separate the person from the sickness,
Sometimes impossible.
Sometimes we become the shadowy monster,
Embrace it with wilted roses,
Knowing too well that of everything else,
The disorder will still be there,
Waiting.
My shadow has been dormant.
My father’s is still active,
Seeking.
Sometimes when we meet it’s like a perfect storm,
A tornado of comfort.
Someone understands the climate.
I take my father’s hand encouragingly,
He turns to run, squirrely,
The shadow greets me with open arms.
I love the shadow as much as I love the man.
After all, there is comfort in numbers.