When You Said
When you said
“I wish you wouldn’t have left the family the way you did,”
Among the tools and sawdust in the Texas heat of July 2024,
After you explained the numbers written on sockets,
After you told me where your mother was born: Indian Creek, Texas, and
After, you told me how your father died when you were twelve,
I was stunned, and I fought to not cry in front of you, knowing
You have been fed a story about me.
Daddy, I’ve always been
The scapegoat.
Low rank.
Blamed.
Held to a different standard.
I didn’t leave the family.
I was right there next to you yesterday.
In your shop, in the alley.
We stared at trees and talked about oaks.
I’ve been coming to see you, as I always have – sneaking around the alleyway so as to not see the people
who tell you stories that aren’t true.
I’m here, Daddy
I love you.
CKMunsell ©2024