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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #864810
About growing up into the person you choose to be
her voice scratched like wool
he was gone
my heart lept
i rubbed my forehead
spoke necessary words and
hung up the phone
made excuses for living
and showed up at his funeral
dressed appropriately

i made sure to hug away tears
i made sure to kiss cheeks
i made sure to let them know
i care
i'm here

when the minister spoke
i listened
he painted a picture of family
he spoke of mine
and inside his words echoed....
but then his family that i love
got up, one by one,
and spoke
and i listened
and i wondered why
i did not have the memories
it should be easier
then i cried

they thought i cried for him
but i had no memories to share
i cried for memories

at my father's home
where lazarus who did not wake
where marthe who did not speak
where mary who did not weep
i waited for her
and i cleaned dishes
set out food
silenced the dog
answered questions

and i discovered that in very silent
deeply small gestures
he must have cared
he touched my future
he did his duty,
as he saw fit
not to be loving
but to do what was right
buying toys
showing me the horse farm
and never swearing at me again

he who was buffered by his family
cared for
obeyed -
he taught them
and they taught me

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