To a Father I Never Knew
Go on, be mostly unexamined.
Excuse yourself from history. Hang there
on the periphery of consciousness.
If you’re okay with that, then fine.
But I rate you more important
than you do yourself. And I’ll
legitimize you yet. Come to an understanding,
an appreciation. Make up for lost time.
That’s you, kept in the dark by a tombstone.
And here’s me, your approximation,
maybe even your appropriation.
Sorry, I didn’t bring flowers.
Six feet deep, your resistance runs.
All I can do is query the ones who knew you.
Or maybe just live my own life.
Count that as a narrative resuming.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Sin Fronteras, Dalhousie Review and Qwerty with work upcoming in Plainsongs, Willard and Maple and Connecticut River Review.