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bellies pushed
back through
the front door.
Not that Dad didn’t ask plenty of
questions, worthy of answers,
but how could I tell
the man who turned
his back on “daddy” status
how my life had changed?
How could I explain
gut-wrenching insights to
someone so lacking
vision?
How could I admit my
part in the current melodrama
to a psyche devoid
of guilt?
How could I share the
way my heart was breaking
when my confessor
didn’t believe
in love?
Instead We Returned to Small Talk
which is probably all we’ll ever manage,
all we’ll ever get to,
if we get to anything at all.
We couldn’t have spent more than
two hours, total, within three weeks,
tied up in trying to talk to each other.
Inter-family communication
