Feb 5
My father used to beat my mother, you said.
My sister would take me in her arms
and rock me like a baby.
I cused to cry until there was no air left in my lungs.
And in that moment, I understood
your love for rocking chairs.
They gave your inner child
the comfort of your sister’s arms
the comfort you spent your life chasing
through alcohol and self-destruction.
I had never felt closer to you than I did then.
Everyone always told me I am my father’s daughter.
But in that moment,
I understood you, Papa.
