Had a very painful end to a conversation with my youngest daughter tonight...it has left me with a hole I thought I’d closed. I guess not. She still cannot see me as a person who has feelings too, as someone who bleeds quietly while she moves past, believing that forgetting what has happened in the past is the best route. Until she needs something and I can’t hold my pain back. Wish I could, sometimes, but perhaps I don’t want shallow relationships and find only death within such a ripple of time. Forgiveness can be done by one person but unfortunately, reconciliation takes two. Guess this is just another suture I’ll have to repair, even if it holds the fabric of pain from spilling. So hard to find much hope in my faith in this moment, and sorry to have to say this.
Anyway, here’s the poem, written with every intent to get the bad feelings out and for no other reason. Just more shit I’m supposed to take.
27 February 2012 - Sutures Rip Anew - ballade
Bring back the memories locked and put away,
a feeling, sick, incestuous, mired below;
an edge in voices finds that hurt has strayed
because that’s what the shallow waters grow.
An elephant encased in white, I know,
stirs drinks within the room she’s placed me in––
a darkness decks of steel can’t fathom shows
that sutures ripped anew still lap at sins.
I guess she buried bones with blood that day,
it’s hard to understand I’m still her foe...
there’s nothing to the wind that claims I pay
on faceless ponds that mirror where I go.
She clenched her teeth and fists as water rose
and drowned the fact I’m still a father then.
She leaves; can’t hear the gasp that chokes my soul
when sutures rip anew, still lapping sins.
A tide of time, a sigh we gently lay,
soon ripples up to tap the boat I row,
it’s empty now––she’s swum for shore to trade
the pain relationship ordains and stows
between two hearts, connecting winds that blow;
and missing in the passing, no one wins
when deeper waters stir and no one’s home
to suture rips anew, still laps of sin.
Adrift, the oars are gone and waters slow;
I fear the sands upon my beach are thin
while one last cut remains a heart to sew...
the other sutures rip anew and map my skin.
5-14-12
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