“When people fall in love with someone’s flowers but not their roots they don’t know what to do when autumn comes.” – Balbir Singh
I think of my dad often when I do
Household chores, shopping, walking, thinking of
What shoes to wear, and whether I have held true
To the expectations of the ones I love.
As I make my bed memories surge back
Around the corners even without my wanting
Out of a simple sense of what I lack,
And I find ordinary weekends haunting.
Considering my father was alone,
Or at least often felt himself to be,
After my mother died, I should have known
A similar state was ahead for me.
I have been flowers others fell in love with,
And may have grown too thorny to put up with.
February 5, 2023
I Dwell In Possibility 