Having died, you have grown
inside my heart for years.
It happened when I did
not care what happened -
in my subbacultcha
adolescence. I was
numb and you numbed
me further. You were not
much like a father anyway,
but I was shocked to
never mourn you.

I know now that it has been
a gradual mourning. I blindly
rampaged into my twenties
before even thinking of you.
And when I did, I did and
I did and I did and you were
there, suddenly, nightly.
It is worse this way,
in many ways – my griefs
are stupid, impossible
questions like: 'Why
Daddy can't you have known
me as a grown man?' I am
so much the son of yours
now. No longer a boy.

Having died, you have
grown – oh nevermind.