I’ve
Gotten Used to It
it’s
true
I have
gotten
used to it
the
blatant absence
&
chaos of starlight
it’s
true
I have
been
interned by
a
radiant seraph &
I
have touched his
hands
during an
un-hoped
for eventide
a
light wind rummaged
our
union
it’s
true
I have
gotten
used to it
vanished
arms & legs
the
tearing out of my
heart
I
wash
each
evening
with
invisible water
to
fill
the
void
until
I
can
find
him
somewhere
else
some
other
day
***
The
title of this poem is intentionally misleading for poetry’s sake. I will never
be used to being without my Dad.
Ain't gonna lie, the barrage of Father's Day displays, sales, and mentions this time around is tightening it's grip around my lonely heart. I try and not let it get me, I really do. I face holidays, especially the ones that celebrate him, with fondness and love and I always try and partake in an activity or have a meal he'd enjoy. I haven't quite formulated a plan for Sunday as yet but I do have one teeny idea to incorporate. I just need a trinket and it'll all come together.
Ain't gonna lie, the barrage of Father's Day displays, sales, and mentions this time around is tightening it's grip around my lonely heart. I try and not let it get me, I really do. I face holidays, especially the ones that celebrate him, with fondness and love and I always try and partake in an activity or have a meal he'd enjoy. I haven't quite formulated a plan for Sunday as yet but I do have one teeny idea to incorporate. I just need a trinket and it'll all come together.
If
you’re lucky enough to still have yours, be kind to him. Love him and tell him so. And, more importantly, if you've fallen out with your Pa, consider forgiveness. It's a superpower we all employ.
In
propinquity,
Nic
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