Today's poem is by Stella Hayes

Father
       

The photograph held for too long in an acid-free frame fell
from the dresser, breaking the glass as if it were hit by a bolt
of lightning. We're in Kyiv, surrendered to gravity —

You held my hand intensely on that ungrotesque day in May,
like only a father can. You were a member of a failed ideology.
And brought me along to the parade,

to counterweigh your burden. You were showing me off
in my May Day best. Starched bows in my hair & knee-high socks.
The sun pausing & starting over. Years later uncovering the family

car from snow. You were returned to us. February grimaced.
Out poured white crystals. Stiff like frozen dirt. The car was parked
on a tree-lined street called Greenleaf. The leaves

absent. Old snow overwhelmed the street. The air preyed on our
lips with a ferocity of a hawk. The air struck the lung in a gesture
of fire. The ubiquitous wheat fields were just beginning to rise

toward the sun. Spring encroached on winter.
Your body unraveled on the concrete like hair out of a stiff
ribbon. The cold obstructed my breathing. On this grotesque

winter day. You surrendered being my father. And I the claim
of belonging to you. Nothing between our palms but air —
I held your hand in mine, like only a daughter can

Tweet

Copyright © 2024 Stella Hayes All rights reserved
from Father Elegies
What Books Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission