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Now that we are together


In our silence

I might as well ask.

What was it, Dad, to be

A man, like you?

How did you cope with it

From the inside?

What was it, Dad, to be burdened

when young? To be responsible

for a family,

relationships as expectations,

children’s fees, clothes, and tantrums!

What was it, Dad, to be bound

to duties?

even your pleasures and little joys, framed

within them —

was it ever freeing and relaxed?

What was it, Dad,

in your post-office passbook,

that you peered into several times a day?

Did it live up to its reputation for you?

What was it, Dad,

before you went under, when you looked at me

earnestly, that you wanted

to say?

Were you

disappointed in me


Did you experience joy?

I seem to see toil

as far back as I can stretch

and then the pains,

of partings, silences

and then more pain these last many years

of wanting to talk but

no words,

of needing help but

no stick could take the weight.

What is it, Dad

in this shared silence

you are asking of me?

Dad half-smiled, with his eyes covered

still. Just for a moment

he tightened the eyelids

a water drop trickled from the right eye.

Then with a sigh

he was gone.

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