Call your Father
as he holds my throat and drags me down,
and slaps my head once twice around,
it sends my aching vision spinning round and round.
Its spins like how he spun me in the sea,
As tiny droplets splashed up on me,
from little feet that kicked and set the tide, in gentle motion with him by my side.
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I feel the way he used to hold my hand,
his rough and coarse as we walked through the winter streets, my mittens far too wide,
he’d place me by the Christmas lights, I’d strike a pose, the shutter would click and he’d beam with pride.
I circle back to spring time and a cake
a single candle flickering awake
with his great grin and grey eyes just glowing right behind it, a faded photograph left to remind it.
Then I fade back into the waking light, upon the cold, hard bedroom floor tonight. I see the face of someone from before, The man I knew, yet not him anymore.
