Twelve Ways of Looking at My Dad

October 18, 2017
By mailletalitha BRONZE, Exeter, New Hampshire
mailletalitha BRONZE, Exeter, New Hampshire
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

At first, he loved me
but something in my dad
must have changed,
you see.


He used to be
someone I could forgive,
someone I could trust,
my dad was once
even made of stardust.


He was my source
of strength,
my dad was my inspiration, of course.


Once loyal,
my dad was devoted.
He was honest, caring,
he taught me how to be daring.


Thursday, January sixth,
the dismal day,
my vision
of my dad
first collapsed,
because of just one decision.


Lack of patience,
he slowly pulled away.
Little did I know,
my dad wouldn’t be here to stay.


His heart diminished,
his morals lost,
my dad chose dominance,
power at all costs.


He fled without warning.
March first,
my dad left,
our hearts swarming.


He used to keep in touch,
with impersonated affection,
my dad was deceitful,
hiding his ash grey demeanor too much.


he convinced himself,
it’s my fault.
My dad still says
he loves me,
a  lie, in and of itself.


He tells me
to live scared.
My dad
claims I burned the wrong bridges,
my baby sister, a comrade.


At times, I miss him.
I yearn to hear his voice,
and despite the late night cries,
I still crave
my dad,
and his piercing blue eyes.

The author's comments:

Inspired by Wallace Stevens' "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird"

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