Night Vom

Why should I be cross with time? Ego took my father from me long before the grave. I remember sun pouring down the canyon walls, the same walls that tried to contain the echo of his rage. I remember the flowers he wanted to walk among with me, and the fear of bees he gave to me when I was young. I remember the succession of apartments, each less fine than the one before it. I remember the last before his parents’ couch, the water frozen in the toilet the day i helped him move in. I remember his parents changing the locks, The walls of their apartment unable to contain the echo of his will. I remember sitting beside him in the night, his hands gripping the steering wheel, as he declared there was nothing left for him here. I remember when I was little walking with him in the creeks; red pebbles rubies; green pebbles emeralds; white pebbles diamonds; the man beside me father. These days the stones are just stones, all their edges washed away, bald, forgotten in their bed.