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Here No More

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Here No More

Here No More 

Peering from 
my bedroom window
I see the last bit of life-

The last bit of life
my father left. 

He left not by choice,
not by brute force,
but because he was left. 

What does an eight-
an eight year old 
know about divorce?

“Daddy did something bad.” 
“We’re going to Aunt Stacey’s house.”

But mommy

“Don’t go upstairs! If you go upstairs you’re punished.”
“Come on, we’re leaving!” 

An eight-
an eight year old knows:

But most of all, an eight-
an eight year old knows 
when their life, their world

And the only thing 
concrete in their life 
is what they can see 
whenever they want 

And for me- 
for me
when I looked
outside my window
EVERYDAY I saw the tree-

the tree 
my father and I 
planted TOGETHER 

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