my creation

there is a photo I keep of you in my childhood bible

tucked somewhere between joshua and psalm, 

your arm is wrapped firmly around mom 

your skin is young and taut 

freckled from the bottom to the top 

just like me

before me was considered me

which is to say I am your daughter 

squinting from the flash of a disposable

or the smoky mountain sun

or both at the same time 

four brown eyes glisten and gleam

looking up at me 

telling their story to the stranger behind the camera

speechless, but communicating 

the sheer joy of any beginning

because before an end 

there are only white grins 

and dirty shins

rubbed fiercely together

to make love beneath a blanket of stars 

to light up the silent wilderness

to summon a forest fire of passion

mom’s palm is spread right below her navel

caressing me

caring for me 

propping me up

two years before me was considered me

which is to say she is my mother 

which is to say I am her first born daughter

so what does it mean when two bodies 

riddled with a diseased past 

make a decision to welcome more bodies into a space

much grander than any well-kept photograph

it means that one day the man in the picture will have a lover

or two 

or three 

that you will meet her in a bar one day

that the man in the picture will introduce you

that she will be your same age

with flat, greased bangs 

and teeth which jutt out like fangs 

It means that you won’t be able to conceal your rage

when you find out the truth

given to you in tiny morsels 

and never by the girl or the man in the picture 

because lies as big as these are never confessed

by the brave people who create them 

it means that lawyers will put the one left behind

so far in debt

that she must cross state lines

search for cheap housing

a room in a shared condo 

in a college town 

at 54 

it means that the daughters left behind will support the one left behind

because they are

flesh of her flesh

bone of her bones

pride of her joy 

it means that if one thing is true

so is the other: 

that my entire creation can be held

by freckled fingers

buried inside pages of Hebrew 

shaking 

bleeding

knowing 

that pure love is just overwrought by disease 

that there is only one name for the man in the picture:

and it forever must be: 

my father

Reviews

[PlayWrite]

i really like this

the sentiment expressed feels genuine the way its written

[Fransivan Writes]

this is such a beautiful poem! thanks for sharing!