I'm trying to remember
The words my father wrote.

He was a poet, in earlier days.
When he lived my lifetime once,
(Now he's lived it three-or-so times over.)

And I remember one day finding the words he wrote,
Photocopied onto bright white paper.

And it was then that I first realized how much I am like my father.

His words then held just as much as my words do now--

As much love,
As much anger,
As much confusion,
And, at times, as much hate.

And now that I feel lost and alone, I try to dig up the pages
That were haphazardly tucked in-between the leafs of a novel, I think

Or maybe an atlas,
Or maybe in a drawer,
Or maybe under the bed...

Behind the bookshelf?
In a photo album?
In a book
Any book
In the kitchen
Above the fridge
In a box
This box
Not this box
That box
Not that box
Any box,
Try any box,
Every box --


Which brings me to now.

Now I sit here, on the kitchen floor
Stirring my lukewarm chamomile,
Watching the air,
And the clock,
Breathing deeply through my mouth,
Holding back any sound

Searching through my head
To remember the words he wrote
Long ago
That somehow might make me feel my father's comforting smile
Now.

It is funny how when I say daddy
a smile often spreads forth on my lips
it may be because of the ‘dy’ at the end of daddy
or because I loved you so much

Smiling always reminds me
of how many times yours beckoned to me
you lit up the room with your jokes
and turned a house into a home

Home is no longer home without you
you have been gone too long now
you should be a memory to us now
but you remain the backbone of what you left

You held us close with your loving arms
simplicity was your best suit
yet love was your weakness
for you granted it to us without restraint

The simplicity in our home
is now lost to an empty place
a place you once filled in our hearts
dear daddy.