Caught in the Crossfire

When I was little, my dad was never at home. Thus, he was a shadow, and when he was home (he traveled) he was on the computer, completely untouchable. He gave one-syllable answers, that could be made with little effort, and couldn't be found in a dictio

I was caught in the crossfire,

down the stairs to get some milk.

I wasn't sure, and even now,

over what you were fighting.

 

Physically, over me,

for you both leaned forward so far,

you didn't have to stretch to touch me.

 

I flinched, though hardly any of her speech,

was understandable,

there was wine on her breath.

A smell I would hate,

even six years afterward.

 

Even now, I know,

that when the wine breaks out,

it is time to leave.

 

Standing in the crossfire,

I must've blinked,

during some of those seconds,

because when I looked,

you were gone.

She was still screaming, but only to herself.

 

I know she's glad your gone,

but even during what little time,

I have left,

I search for you.

 

You're the ghost that haunts my sleep,

the voice I so long to know,

that I swear I hear you,

when I know you're not here.

 

I miss when you were the shadow,

that crept through the house,

to avoid mowing the lawn,

fixing the door,

and spending time with me.

 

I don't care what she says,

you did,

I love you,

Daddy.

Author's Note

This was one of those, where the first line hit me. I thought of what it reminded me of, and I typed.
Nothing has been edited, except for typos.

Have at it!

Reviews

[Adela Muresan]

Great write.
I like your story poem, and the longing you reflect trough it but ...what is it doing in the ,,Gray,, contest?
Next time you wish to post in one of my contests please read it's description first.

A.M.