For Fathers

The things I think of:
The bearskin rug under the shiny grand piano
My grandpa's hands are deft and joyful
Not as shaky as he looked
Not weak like him

Fear
A girl in a nightgown
Trying to be good
Told she is loved
Told she is beautiful

Those weak hands were once strong
as a wooden plank in a basement
a concrete wall
children's voices
Trying to be good

You are too young
Strength where grasses were not watered
a field of wheat
Toughened by the scorching sun
A tanned hide
whipped too long to not rise up

KILL
Death has been sewn here
So follow through
Complete the process
Bring in the harvest
Just like your father

How did he watch
he kept a close eye
But how did he bury the skeletons
when the backyard was sold
Did he bring them along in the move
Brittle heirlooms

I held your wrists and yelled
“catch the snakes that you loosed!”
And you caught some
kept them in formaldehyde
like trophies
The house: busy with movement
the kids find your corners
break your jars
This was never your plan
You sought safety
But you tried to be good
You wanted to be told you were loved
To be told you were beautiful

Give me the bones
I will destroy them
while you shed the skin you were born into
I will complete the process
Bring in the harvest
I will be like my father

I think you are good
I love you
I think you are beautiful