Fearing Father
There in the corner of the living room
on a loveseat meant for two
now only resides one
there he sits, by a warm fireplace
its occupant a man
a man have I known only as a father
and as a man, I never really knew.
Sitting next to a pile of faded newspapers
magazines, ages old, the tattered bed of an old tabby
an old man now brooding over things, old n forlorn
I can’t fathom, or can’t understand
the tabby indifferent and worn.
On his left in a wooden bin
once used for wood
now holds his favorite books,
his favorite things
of architecture of rooks
arcane writings n forgotten lore
a chest full of his ledgers
journals n writings he would pour
by a familiar fatherly figure
written by his aged hands...his memories!
A man, I once called father if not dad...
A retired ww2 shipyard worker
a builder and a designer
architect of homes and cities.
a shriner
A man I never knew.
I never knew him as a boy,
or as a younger man
only as this bitter old thing of long years
of turmoil, a life I have only heard of
in stories of faraway lands russian, china
parts unknown.
Antediluvian….
I heard stories of him
being a good man
a man of god,
now just a bitter man
an old man of hate
a rage of unknown origins and reasons.
I never understood or never knew,
I only know this little old man sitting on a loveseat,
bitter and fuming ready to fight with my mom,
me or anybody...
as the tabby does not understand.
I grew up most of my life
fearing my father
fearing the wrong word
that will send him to rage
one wrong step will cause
a cascade of anger and arguments
accusations
like wading through a mind field
or stepping gingerly on eggs shells
always fearing...
father???
This was a man I was supposed to love
a man who was to protect me, to love me
but..
a man who never really bonded
a man who would tear me down
with names and braiding, beating...koff...
Sorry, the world blurs a little in memory,
I wipe something from the corner of my eye...
...remember being chased at a young age
with a belt cut from worn leather n running for my life...
fearing father the patriarch of his family,
alone in that family due to an absentee brother
and a lost mother...
I grew up fearing father
There in the corner of the living room
on a loveseat meant for two
but now no one resides there,
by that old, cold, forgotten fireplace
there where he sat, occupied by once a man
a man I have never known if only by tears...
as a man, I never really knew,
just remembering the father I feared...
the ghost of the tabby still resides...
My eyes are lost in the distance,
the distance of memory
I feel this bitter imagery
it fades into my history
it fades into memory
like tattered newsprint n magazines…
a memory not really needed
or wanted but here nevertheless
like a ghost of a thorn
Fearing farther…
I remember... how...
I remember now...
...something in my eye.
a...
spark would flare an outline of his heavy creased & well warn face
deep in the dark...
so many nights out of place...
Copyright © Poet Tellaferro | Year Posted 2023
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