To Someone

Father

0514.2013

My mouth blooms like yours—

sharp-edged, it’s bloody full of

the things I should’ve swallowed.

Sometimes I think about

matching my eyes to yours—

the ones you gave to my face

and lit with defiant flames.

Then I’m freckled like you,

say god damn too much.

Piss and vinegar.

A little chaos.

A little poetry.

You gave me that, too.

I still can’t tuck my life into neat tidy corners.

But, you couldn’t either.

All my creations—

The paint, inks, and mess,

carry the weight of your absence

and your wild blood.

If there’s anything left of you out there—

on the wind,

in the chords of a song,

In the pluck of your strings,

in whatever heavenly body—

may you find my work,

and know your daughter by it.

m.c.f.