DREAMS OF MY FATHER
My father is a junkie, but he is alive and well. There was a time when I wrote of him, wondering if he was safe. Was he tired? Was he fed? Was he lost in an alleyway with a strip of rubber plastered to his sweaty arm?
I would have washed his feet and poured alabaster upon his head like Mary Magdalene—an atonement of sorts. At night, I would lie in bed afraid that I would never get a chance to say goodbye to him—that he would escape me in life, and too, in death.
The day after my mother died, he called me from behind prison walls, his voice thick like gravy. I could not respond. He is here, she is not.
It is the ultimate trick, the final cruelty, that this man with eyes caked shut, this man who cared nothing but of his sweet addiction is the only thing that I have left to claim. I brim with resentment. Barrister in training never had a chance to appeal or petition for her. Who was present to intercede?
His life shatters every concept of balance. He was spared. And for that, I ache. A life for a life, he should have taken her place, and I would have poured alabaster upon his head.
I know that thoughts are cold and hard, but I do not apologize. I stopped believing in fairytales and happy endings a long time ago.
I fold and ask for a new hand.
I would have washed his feet and poured alabaster upon his head like Mary Magdalene—an atonement of sorts. At night, I would lie in bed afraid that I would never get a chance to say goodbye to him—that he would escape me in life, and too, in death.
The day after my mother died, he called me from behind prison walls, his voice thick like gravy. I could not respond. He is here, she is not.
It is the ultimate trick, the final cruelty, that this man with eyes caked shut, this man who cared nothing but of his sweet addiction is the only thing that I have left to claim. I brim with resentment. Barrister in training never had a chance to appeal or petition for her. Who was present to intercede?
His life shatters every concept of balance. He was spared. And for that, I ache. A life for a life, he should have taken her place, and I would have poured alabaster upon his head.
I know that thoughts are cold and hard, but I do not apologize. I stopped believing in fairytales and happy endings a long time ago.
I fold and ask for a new hand.
Comments
when of the heart
may be rigid
but not cold or hard
Stay up Love!
thanks for the support. this i know is true.
@torrance
that brings som relief
@tony oh
thanks for sharing your story. you understand me on so many levels. i can always find encouragement through you. i am sorry to hear about your dad, but i am glad that you were able to find meaning. you are right, i know that i am being prepared for more joy than i can hold, and when that joy comes, resentment will disappear. thank you for always sharing your love. i know that love never ends. it goes on and on and on...
I am touched. Thank you for speaking the truth. BTW-love your blog.
Thanks for popping by.
Greetings from London.
thank you so much for your words. Scorpio, eh? I should have known. my ex and grandfather are both scorpios and the only "real" men in my life. Thank you for bearing witness to my pain. I know that it is uncomfortable, but it is a true gift. I appreciate your unjudgmental ear, or eyes in this medium (smile). After I wrote this, I felt the ultimate release--the tiny tear as you say, followed by a sense of power. If I do forgive him, it will be on my own accord and with my red cape on (another smile for you).
@ muse
I will def check out your poem. Where have u been hiding? I have released this into the universe--it is what it is.
Thanks. Welcome to my space.