Now that we are together
Alone
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
Dad?
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.