Midwinter & my father wants to know
if I can forgive him. Brow
furrowed, I know it’s just
a matter of time. Unstable
blood vessels & his hazel
iris failing to control
light. It’s natural, the way
Mercury changes position
when it approaches the sun.
It’s natural, the way
tissues decay & my blurred
face when the optic nerve
sparks images in his brain.
He’s sixty-six years old
& my body tenses still
at the sound of his heels
in a quiet room.
I swear I still can feel his fingers
curving the base of my
girl neck. Darkening
my mind. Darkening
stars that rupture
in a black hole’s gravity.
You know how dust
glitters in the sunlight
before it’s pulled to the ground?
I want to know the mathematics
of it. I want to know
how he outlived my mother.
I want to know
what he remembers.
I want to know
how much I’ll regret.
*
Amy Williams is a writer and educator based in New Delhi. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in West Trade Review, Rust + Moth, Bodega Magazine, The Shore, Redivider, Sweet Tree Review and Contrary Magazine.
Beautiful and dark, sadly many can relate to your words. I wondered the same thing, how did he outlive my mother? It takes so much courage to write and let people see inside. Thank you
Thank you for this honest, oh-so-carefully made poem.