Listen to poem:
My Sister Says
My sister says
my father was a good man --
but, how should I,
who never "knew" him
(except as a far-from-good man)
buy her stories?
Am I, the last child
of that union,
too, too judgmental?
Too far removed in time from
what she knew
and now recalls?
My memory is of a different man,
who died when I was twenty-two:
one rarely present, never talking,
often jailed,
unsupportive --
someone I really never knew.
He was no bearer of familial tales,
no imparter of the history
now I only wish I'd heard...
Obviously, I differ from my sister
about what constitutes a good man.
He never seemed to feel that he
needed to provide basics --
food, shelter, clothing, health care --
to his offspring -- and he almost never did......
I do remember how he staggered
on the street,
fell off of curbs,
sought shelter
and often could be found
asleep -- or at least
stretched out unconscious --
in some vacant lot;
how he foraged
frenziedly
about for beer,
or only Gallo muscatel
(thirty-five cents for the flask).
Should I not ask
what makes my sister think
I could remember him as does she?
In such a different light?
As victim,
and maligned
by inlaws or by circumstance?
All I know is what I do remember,
what I survived
when she and others,
grown, were gone.
I do not think
that I can accept
or change
(nor in absentia, forgive) --
and, no, I do not yet
believe
what my sister says.
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