Well, son,
You’d think
That the past
Is in the past.
But I tell you
The past
Is with me
Still today.

What do you see
When you look
In the mirror?
“Well, your face,”
You say.

Son,
I see my eyes.
And in my eyes.
Is my past.
Someone went
And scratched on my eyes
What I’ve done,
In my past.

And son,
Some of those things,
I ain’t proud of.

The past pains me, son!
The past snickers at me
From the depths
Of my eyes.
The past is a burden
That I have forced
Upon myself.
The past glares at me.
The past stares at me.
The past will never leave.
The past is
A permanent tenant
In the housing
Of my deepest secrets.

But you know, son,
Sometimes
I need the past.
To be able
To match its gaze
And say,
Truthfully,
The past
Is past.

Well, son,
You’d think
That the past
Is in the past.
But son,
The past
Is with me
Still today.


-NoLi