My Father At My Table
By Dr. Christopher Mathe
(8-10-98 to my father)
I’ve fought so long
So hard to deny
With angry, righteous cries
Your place at my table.
Your pain walled away
But alive and leaking
Through so many cracks
To form the dark parts of me.
All you were, I cannot be.
I’m so much more aware, alive
I do so much more than survive
I long to turn toward the light and reject all you are.
I could not imagine you
Hurting and alone
A child holding off the terror.
Carrying your father’s wound.
As I carry yours
When I look closely
At the parts unseen
You child peeks back.
While your wound is not mine
I can accept your humanness
And your presence that helped
Shape the man I’ve become.
Come, break your fast
At my table.
I have more to learn
More tears to cry.
You are welcome,
My father.
I pray I will be welcome
At my son’s table some day.