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A Poem to My Absent Father

Why is it so touch and go?

Why can’t I feel comfortable with you?

We do this constant dance of death where we come closer and then drift farther apart than before

Every commitment you made in the past is a piece of my glass heart shattered on the floor leaving us bleeding as we parry

I like to lash out verbally and you like to withdraw

It’s a continuous back and forth

Will we ever win when I have my mother's temper and words as sharp as daggers to back the dangerous impulsive nature that I inherited from you?

I suppose we’ll continue our dance until the day we die

Yet even then I don’t think our spirits will stop

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