written on the 2nd anniversary of my dad’s death, posted now for Jingle’s Poetry Potluck (and because I’ve been thinking about it).
Feed me, the way I fed you.
Comb my hair.
DON’T TOUCH ME
Where did you go?
I don’t know.
I NEVER KNOW
And for as much as I’d like to I can’t, pray I never will.
The bruises, restraints, overpowering drugs.
The incredible loneliness.
Talk to me Daddy.
Be one of the voices in my head.
Why did you hit me that day?
Why didn’t you stay on that mountain?
GET OUT OF MY LIFE – hold me tight
If you could come back and do it again, would you?
Would you call me your child?
Why in the sky do the clouds always shroud the image of your body from my wandering eyes?
© Michelle Routhieaux 11/17/03