Washing off all the grime of our soul In the muddy waters; Stepping into the orange light We had felt pure and sanctified. Though bones and ashes lay clinging to our melting flesh We had felt strangely relieved Leaving the source of our life behind, As though tons of lead, resting upon our breast Had slipped away. It was hard picking up the shards of our shattered lives; Learning to live without our father Was somewhat like living in a roofless house, Everything leaked, Even an ordinary rain threatened to drown us When sun beat down mercilessly Huddled together like school children We cried to keep ourselves warm and cheerful Little betrayals of faith and trust Kept our cash registers ringing through the day Sharp, piercing arrows of light So difficult to keep the count That night seemed serene, in comparison, Not as terrifying and spine-chilling it often is. Then one day, My father returned, As unexpectedly as he had left. Walking right into my heart This time, He found a niche, a permanent place; Occasionally, he’d sit there, Frowning at my grandfather, Kicking up a row, starting a fight, Pulling swords out of the scabbards, They’d often fight their battles at my expense. Slowly their battles became fiercer. Turning my heart into a battleground, Father’s Id milling around in futile chase, Clashing hopelessly against grandfather’s Superego. I watched these battles from the margins, Father roaring like a lion in a cage,
Page 55