It took me several years to fully realize and grieve the death of my father. During those years,
I wrote three poems about the process. This is the first one. Climbing the Stairs (Father #1)
Climbing the Stairs (Father #1)
“He’s up there, go see him”
Mom says from the couch
With a face that surprises me
With its strength and resolve.
I expected histrionics
An easy climb
Back onto her cross
A public display of her loss.
But quiet calm greets me instead.
This adds to my confusion
And fear
My father’s dead?
My father’s dead.
Go up and see him?
I don’t know what to do
Or feel, or say…
So I climb the stairs
Getting younger with each step
I’ve always been afraid to enter
The master bedroom
The lair where gods
And bears slept
Where punishment is meted
And secrets are kept.
Facing my father has always carried fear.
You can do better
You must be the best
Never lose, never quit
You’re nothing if you don’t pass the rest
Life is a war to be won
You’re a soldier, not a son
“Fill each minute with sixty seconds of distance run”
I am a good soldier
Wanna-be-son
At the top of the stairs
Facing the room
I cannot go forward
I cannot run.