Was Today 
 

Dad, it has been too many unfolded nights, I struggle to create a photo of you

I think about the day the news of your frozen face reached me and I thought you were

Dead.  Or maybe it was that I wished you were.  Maybe you already have.

I tried to explain why the white puffs bothered me but I was only five and all I can

remember was your belly protruded like a womb against skinny body.  Your dark lips

From the burning stick that you kissed every day, every night.  Or maybe it was a gene

I now inherit.  You spoke with religious innuendos as you extracted the pieces of your

Navel.  Follow with a giggle.  I was naïve.  Rejected you.  I watched scars grow and maybe my breasts let me see more.  Your child is the visitor of your grave and will never grief.   You are your own eternal.