EIGENGRAU
By Nadine "MARS"you sleep and your father
appears with half a face
sits in a corner of your bedroom
and watches your body
tense, just as it did when
you were twelve waiting
for his belt to strike your
flesh for your tired mouth
failing to say good morning
in a night filled with the restless
song of crickets you wish
to ask him what it's like to die
alone
to fall amongst the prick
of freshly cut grass and
simply disappear
even here, your father never
loses his gaze toward you
doesn't extend his gangly arms
to beg you to come closer
what do you call a man who is there
and still absent
spectre
what do you call a dead father you wish
could speak
phantasm
*
you search
for remnants of a woman
once known to you
who sang you to sleep
with a honeyed voice
her arms rocking you
in the half light
you call out to her
yes I was
once your daughter
and I am no more
or yes I want to fall
in love too and document
the Hyacinths in spring
your mother, who is no gardener
says you make her proud
in spite of all that goes without
saying you wish to bring her
close so close
you wish
to ask if she'll ever return
Nadine "MARS" is a writer and cultural organizer born and raised in Detroit.
