My childhood household
wasn’t a happy place or safe space
Elder dreams, shattered,
as spectral company,
ev’ry nook and cranny.
And the fragmented hopes of manifold orisons,
aimed at, shouted aloft
back to earth, crashing,
as littering shards,
covered the floor…
Thus the test, nay, the impossibility ‘twas to tread without being cut
by his circadian critique;
he who yearned to relive,
to revive his life through me.
I was not…never mine own;
not one to be nurtured to become his self
(whoe’er that was or could be or would be),
but only his should-be-servant to his Svengali.
after a long time,
after an o’er-years long, hard time
of inward journey and outward discovery,
by God’s grace,
I made peace with the price
of the sacrifice
I was made to make;
the sacrifice I was.
And, by God’s grace,
I made peace with his history
of denial, familial and societal.
From the seed of that awareness
came the fruit of forgiveness.
Now, in mine aging,
the lines of time etching once smooth flesh,
when I look at my reflection,
I see, day by day, more and more his face
and, no longer turning away,