Fragments of A FatherA Poem by kahlen369 How do you love a stranger?
Fragments
of a Father
My
only memory of my father Is of
a dream
It is
blindingly bright in the bedroom On my first day of preschool My father calls for me to wake From
the open door I never
glimpse more than a shadow When I look out to the corridor For
the longest time, I thought My
only dream of my father Was of a memory
How
do you love a dream?
My
only memory of my father Is of
his death
I
imagined it like a fairytale The
brave knight poised to fight Against the terrible dragon’s teeth A man
who died a hero’s death While
my mother stood behind and wept But
in time, his armour began to rust As
his body slowly turned to dust Flies
feed on victim and hero both
How
do you love a dead man?
My
only memory of my father Is a
faded old photograph
Of when
he was young With
black rimmed glasses, western coat and tie, And a faint smile Once, I pencilled a portrait of him As
though I could bring him to life If I
drew accurately enough But
even when his eyes shined bright He remained in black and white
How do you love a photograph?
My only memory of my father Is of
my mother
Of
the scars he left behind on her With his shining silver scalpel In the hollows of her heart Where gnawing beasts reside In the patchwork quilt of half-truth
tales That explained the hole inside her The
first drops of colour begin to appear
How
do you love half of a whole?
My
only memory of my father Is of the mistakes
As time
passes, her story changes From
fairy tales to foolish teen romances Great new hope to bitter old regret The
shadows in the cracks of his armour Show
clearer with each new light The
monster in the closet was the man all along Every bitter bruise emerges in his
picture Red
with blood, yellow with bile, green with sickness Until
what emerges is merely A
crazed woman’s desperate ramblings Messy,
senseless and true
How
do you love the mistakes?
My
only memory of my father Is of his echo
In my eyelashes like pine needles My thin and pointed mouth In my love affairs with books My fondness for chrysanthemums I find his blood in my veins His marks in my shape My mother sees it too Ghosts that dwell in the living His
echoes bounce between us I
find a shade of his shadow In the browns of her gaze
How do you love an echo?
My
only memory of my father Is on
every first of November
It
feels odd to have a house For a
dead man The
heady smell of Chinese incense Fills
the void of the tomb Swirls
around the bodies Of
the relatives who have gathered To burn paper printed with gold The
red-violet stick burns slowly When
I think of prayers of give In the scattering wisps of smoke I imagine my father’s spirit
This is all I have of him A disfigured portrait of a dead man Sketched by a dozen left behind
hands How do you love that?
© 2013 kahlen369Author's Note
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Added on October 10, 2013Last Updated on October 10, 2013 Tags: father, death, estranged relationship Author
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