Photo by Jelena Lapina on Unsplash
The Man Who Was Never Home
Even when he was there,
he wasn’t there.
His body in the chair,
his mind somewhere else.
Anger lived closer to me than he did—
anger that cracked like thunder,
anger that made me forget
what it felt like to breathe easy.
I wanted to ask him why.
Why love was too heavy for him to carry,
why his hands were closed
when mine were reaching out.
But I stayed quiet.
Children learn early
that questions can become bruises.
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