echoes.
i close my eyes; suddenly, it's 1996 i'm at the foot of a twin-size bed on a makeshift mattress; a cloud stacked blankets; my father's floor i'm tucked in beside my big brother he has kindergarten in the morning and i'll cry when dad doesn't let me walk along to the bus stop tomorrow let's get back to the foot of the bed right now; this is our nightly ritual our father is leading us in prayer and he won't spare a single name my brother and i repeat every line unaware of how much forgiveness we are witnessing; separate prayers for every person, like a safety curtain and we don't see our father hurting but he is, don't see him medicating but he has been; he's hiding it well like a safety curtain, like a prayer like leftover love for my mother that could've moved god to tears so he always saves it for the end family & friends, then forgiveness we plea for everyone's forgiveness before asking for our own; believing the words we're repeating as our own and wishing everyone makes it home i'm too young to realize what it means and home is where my father's headed in five years time; but right now it's 1996 and our echoes cease for a few seconds it's an intermission before the final act this is his confession; love is still alive for my mother, long after the goodbyes he needs us to know, my brother and i he needs us to learn this forgiveness so with god as his witness, he speaks and he changes his tone as if he knows he's speaking to the men we'll become "sometimes love may be lost on us, but we should never lose that love." now, the echoes lead us home.
