Last night, I watched my father cry for the first time
He stood there listening to me talk to my mother on the phone
Hearing her ask why he put her in there
Why she was in the hospital away from her baby girl
Why he was using me to hurt her
Why the doctors were trying to kill her

My dad says the last time Mom broke down
Was two days after I was born
Every night that she cried in the hospital bed
He fed me a bottle in the coffee dark of the living room
Holding me close and watching my eyes sink shut
Feeling the weight of a daughter in his arms

I unlock the door at 12:40 AM
Slip in smelling of cold air of boys of laughter of fast cars
I can hear him gently shifting papers and dirty plates
I feel a pang of guilt for leaving him to
Pace the house alone for a night

We sit quiet at the kitchen table eating cold pizza
Neither of us has anything particular to say
And I feel like I’m meeting my father again and for the first time
Like our eyes are finally open in the harsh light of the kitchen