Whatever happened to the father?
This father, though concerned,
is twenty-five years absent from the scene.
But there is a step-father
who says little
but that’s okay because I don’t
know what to say either.
The girls take hold of his hands
and bring him over to where I stand.
I stare at him, into his sunken,
defeated brown eyes;
I think: I am grateful that I don’t
have to live with her like you do.
I think: I am envious that you
get to live with her and I don’t.
I wonder if there are husbands hiding
upstairs, waiting to stand beside him
when all he can do is sit.

04/04/2006

Posted on 04/04/2006
Copyright © 2024 Lisa Marie Brodsky