He is the color gray

Not dark

Just foggy


He is the nicotine in my lungs

The tears in my eyes as he pulls my head on his chest

As he pulls my head to his chest

To his big tummy

I feel like I'm falling off a cliff

I feel like he has already jumped and is embracing me from the grave

I feel like I'm falling

Strong stark wind on my face

Tears stinging my eyes

And I curl up next to him

A grown woman who remains a child for him

I am his favorite

It embarrasses me

Turns the family against me

Perhaps he will address his goodbye letter only to me

I am his angel

I know it

He does not tell me

He doesn't need to

I know it when he pulls my head to his chest

And pats my hair like I'm 5

I know it when he calls for me when he's sitting in the dark

Listening to mournful, medieval Catholic chants

I fumble around in the dark

To find the dark

And still thank God that he's still there

Cuz every time I fumble around for him

I hold my breath


I'll find him cold

He jests at scars that never felt a wound

I want to shake him for his senseless sadness

But he wants it this way

In the dark

With the sad music

and his grown daughter's head on his chest