Sunday, March 13, 2011

Fathers

Fathers
they seem to be
fleeting
I look all around me
and I see
strong
wooden
troubled mothers
and father
he is a memory
a distant island
that once held her love
every thought and memory
sanitized
for her child's protection
I guess
I've got it good
out of everyone
my father is here
albeit a shell
of his former self
the smile is still there
but vacant
he still dances
but none of us can hear the music
no my father isn't gone
not really
not like the fleeting fathers of my friends
no
theirs are buried
or long gone
off to new families
new conquests
my father is here
I'm lucky to have him
so why are we all so sad?

copyright 2006 Marissa Arterberry

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