Outside my window, 

I can see him.

He taps on the glass,

waving to me

as if I was an old friend.

Outside my door,

I can see him.

I take a moment

to pause and listen.

-

-

-

Then, I look again,

and he’s gone.

What scares me the most,

are the days when I can see him

in the mirror.

I can see his face.

His eyes, his hair, his nose,

his child.

I try to joke about it.

It’s like laughing after being cut.

Although each giggle

tears at my wound.

Sometimes, I forget,

but when it comes back around

in my mind,

it makes me want to vomit.

I tried to make amends.

I sent him well thought out letters.

However, what I couldn’t do

was pretend like everything

was okay.

Because, yes, I am forgiving,

I get that from my mother,

but the strongest thing

I’ve ever inherited,

was my father’s anger.