How were we to live without our fathers,
absent fathers, invisible fathers,
negligent fathers, fathers who failed
to escape the ash that blesses all
who stand beneath clouds, faces upturned,
in search of the dignity that comes
with taking home a half-loaf of bread?
How were we to know that these fathers
angry fathers, depleted fathers,
tired fathers, would never return
to remove their shadow from the sun?
Freedom rumbles in our empty hands,
frightened hands, our fathers' gift to us.
How are we supposed to live as fathers?
-o0o-
A moving poem like many of AE Ballakisten's poems. Thanks for posting.
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