I do not know how to write about my father
be it poetry, fiction, or death threats
nothing stays down
I am sick from him.
Sometimes I quiver inside
at the sound of his voice
my body tremors when his hand
smashes my head, and rubs with pride
he is gleaming from his toothless mouth
which may be my inheritance someday
he leaves me with loss.
I watch him carefully
At any moment, at the slightest notice
I may need to escape
but I’ve never been able to run far
I am the ground
beneath my father’s feet
tethered, we move together
his face is a faded picture of my own
taken by a yellow and black
Kodak disposable camera
his father snapped it
before he walked out
on my memories of him.
my father’s voice is a silencer
always catching me in its sights
he wields it like a weapon
never laid down to rest
not for me, not for my mother
his tears are a riddle
that I cannot solve
flowing from his enigmatic aura
telling me he loves me
Father,
I honor you with my indecision.