Construction Literary Magazine

Fall 2020

Stay Father

Stay Father
Photograph via Flickr by spinster cardigan
Stay Father

You taught the words that I say Father
God razed a temple, so I pray Father.

I kiss the hand that taught me to stand
that broke a home to make a grave Father.

Mama spins her silk skin to weave her milk shroud,
she hopes she’ll die in, after our late Father.

Grief carves and bleeds us black and blue,
you’re our ocean, you still make waves, Father.

We wail unspoken, silent, with hearts broken,
like animals learning they are preyed, Father.

An aged sun drowns into pink horizon,
we accept it, no longer screaming “stay Father!”

Stay Father. Wave Father. Say Father. Preyed Father.
Pray Father. Pray Father. Pray Father. Grave Father.