Dad by Robert Wilson

(I feel that nothing I write could do you justice but here it goes…)

Every night, we
sat on the living room
floor and played
with my toys
while you made me laugh
throughout it all. Before bed,
you would always
give me the
most hypnotic
hug. I could withstand
a thousand bullets or
survive the heaviest
meteor strike, long as those
arms were shielding me.
When I was six you
went for a walk when your
heart, that thing you always
shared with a smile
with the phlegmatic world, suddenly
gave out and
then
you were gone
forever. I don’t even
remember saying
goodbye but I do
remember, through confused
and grieving words, blaming
everything with a soul
for your
departure. I rubbed away any
memory of that year with
constant crying while
mom locked her sadness away
in her future casket
for me,
for you.
Every day I
feel the ulceration
somewhere inside my
conscience where your
love used to be. There is
so much you could
have taught me that I’ll
never know such as
how to plant a garden that
tickles the feet of
God. I’ll have to make do
with yellow photographs
and second hand
stories. I wish
I were in every
single one of them
with you.
You are
Buddha.
You are
Christ.

Robert Wilson is a writer and poet from Morgantown, WV. His writing is known for being dark, confessional, and cathartic. Robert's work has been published in San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly, Amomancies, Deep Water Literary Journal, and others. He loves coffee and pasta.

Robert Wilson is a writer and poet from Morgantown, WV. His writing is known for being dark, confessional, and cathartic. Robert’s work has been published in San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly, Amomancies, Deep Water Literary Journal, and others. He loves coffee and pasta.

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