Maybe he was conditioned to walk away
Perhaps he sensed its coming
Lowering himself into the blocks
When she said it was over
That was the starter pistol’s report
Off he went
Maybe he witnessed the maternal bond
Who was he to try and fuck with that?
As much as he could give
He felt he’d be a little short
It was something he couldn’t deny us
Arms limp at his sides, he walked away
I like to imagine that he argued
That he cried in attempts to stay whole
That he held us in his arms
Tears streaking down his face
The look of a broken man
His face a setting sun melting into the ocean
I like to imagine that he called constantly
Trying to make amends to bridge the distance
That we were at the forefront of his mind
That he showed up uninvited
Diapers under one arm
A teddy bear under the other
I have a half-sister I’ve never met
That he walked away from first
Maybe she was the hardest
When my mom pointed at the door
It was like Pavlov ringing a bell
Without thought he found himself alone
I was left with a gaping hole in my chest
A severed, invisible umbilical
Trailing out behind me
The weight of a logging chain
Leaving a trail of black bile
For most of my life
My father reentered my life a few years later
Reaffirming a bond I always knew I needed
A puzzle piece fitting my chest hole perfectly
I no longer dragged that logging chain
Though I no longer envied other children
I had gained a friend in him more than a father
I think he felt that he gave up that right
That it would be a waste of time anyway
When so much joy was had just being friends
And when life was a storm he was a safe port
Two years ago a storm washed away that port
I’m often come undone at the thought of this
Looking at my two-year-old son
I imagine the hole in his chest
That I can only fill with stories
Of his quirky, loving grandfather
That he’ll have no memory of
And have to trust my recollection of him
At the same time I long for that lost period
The early years I didn’t have my father
I look at my son
And I couldn’t imagine walking away
I would level a city, sell my soul to the devil
To be by his side
As a child, brought up catholic
I believed in a heaven and hell
I’ve since stepped away from faith
And I put my belief in Socratic method
Which relies on student-teacher dialogue
I’ve lost my teacher but gained a student
Thinking of the loss of my father
My fading youth
My son’s long journey ahead
I hope I’m wrong about heaven
I hope I’m wrong
When I have no choice but to…walk away