Daddy’s Match Box

Sitting alone on the porch on this dark chilly night

Knowing nothing will ever be the same.

You left without saying a word, just like always.

All part of your cheating game.

I emptied your closet – the clothes and the junk,

The firepit stuffed full to the brim.

The thought I am thinking has long been denied -

“I’m ready to be rid of him.”

I found the red box of dad's old kitchen matches,

And lit a few, testing the flame.

It’s odd to watch a match burn down

Not one of them burned the same.

Adding small twigs and forest debris to the funeral pyre I built,

Watching the sparks quickly come to life.

Memories of you were burned into ash,

Finally, yes finally, no more strife.

The smoke plume rose slowly in a gray hazy way

I watched as it all disappeared.

No feeling, no tears, nothing left of you.

The debris field you left now totally cleared.

I hate that I gave you so much of myself

Ever hoping you’d give something back.

But this fire burned brightly and forced me to see

The shallow, the ego, and all that you lacked.

The fire that purifies made the dross float to top,

I skimmed it off and found pure gold.

This moment is cathartic, so I'll seek and I'll find,

The stories of me, left to be told.