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#241

cleansing
(my father’s 65th birthday)

I soap my face
with anger
              long gone

the lather stings
reopening pores
clogged
with the oil of forgiveness

I need the cold water of truth
to splash them clean

finally refreshed
I wipe my face dry
but the lines of my bones
show my fingertips
the deepest scars

the ones
         I thought
                  I’d forgotten

 
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Posted by on January 3, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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#207

My father’s house

My father’s house was empty,
A quiet place of nothing
And seemingly no one.
Any sounds I might have made
Usually faded more quickly
Than the footprints I learned not to follow.
They lead nowhere special.
My father’s house
Was a place of blank white walls.
The emptiness drained the color from my eyes.
I finally learned I could leave.
So what to do now after the apology?
When anger and disdain
Have been your life’s helium
And they have drained away
With the real “I’m sorrys”
We do not expect to receive?
What is there left
To hold you up?
My father’s house is still empty,
A quiet place of nothing.
But I am old enough now
To have the color strong in my eyes
And I know that if I make sounds
They will not fade away.
Do I still choose to leave?

 
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Posted by on November 26, 2013 in Uncategorized

 

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