there’s smoke in your lungs and under the kitchen fan
I protect my breathing with a clasp of my hand
you sit by yourself and the words you must’ve spoken were minimal
for I don’t have memories of you in my childhood
you push me out the door and I surrender to the couch
dad told me that he cried

you’re out in the garden and I think that’s nice
sometimes you even photograph butterflies
you hate cooking but you do it every once in a while
you told me dad always offered wine

I sit in a chair and remember your words
I look down at myself and I don’t see my worth
a beach in a foreign country or the swimming lessons at school
they’ll always force me to jump in the pool
I’ll cry as I write
I’ll stain every paper
who ever told you that you are the gatekeeper?

years and years and there’s still tears
but they may be drying down
and maybe one day I can look at you in the eye
you’re not evil
you’re insensitive
yet I could never question someone so authoritative