Why do birds sing without him in the world?
How long will it take for my heart to uncurl?
When will the sun and the wind give grief space,
and be not a wicked lie upon my young face?
How can it be at 15 I am left
in a chasm of darkness and gut-wrenching depth?
I adored him in day and in night.
Worshiped him, my beacon, gay and bright.
Now a car and the tide have taken him on.
The skid marks say his mind was gone.
A strong man, a big man, a swimmer by day
couldn’t get out of the car or the bay.
Why did he take that last drink, I ask?
Could he not see it would be his last?
No, not like the others gone before with a swirl
just one more scotch for the road and his girl.
Old Spice and Scotch remember me back
to the days my father kept our love as a pact.
Big, bulging arms tugged me up to kiss;
whispered softly, “I love my miss.”
No man will savoir my heart’s dark place.
No adoration or worship span the space.
For my father was my Prince, deep and true.
No one’s touch or love will ever do.
To my Father, Frank Lane Reese 1910-1966