prelude

 

Father, dear—
You were never the quiet one.
But as the years pass, distance stretches,
your silence grows.
Father dear, how many words have you whispered to me
with that look in your eyes?
I see them; your eyes; like my own in the mirror.
And they tell me you are tired.

Mother, dear—
How are your hands?
After all the mud and grease,
the dust and dirt you scrubbed out of our lives.
You told me I would learn from your mistakes,
that one day, with children of my own,
I’d be a better mother.
But mother, please—
I don’t want to break your heart.
Your eyes have been telling me, too:
You are tired.

Mother. Father.
I thought you broke me—
but it turns out,
it was just a phase.
And now I find myself
searching for a way back.

Mother dear—
Just for a second, stop scrubbing the floor.
Let me hug you tight,
and give you all the love I have.
You don’t need to keep going.
Please rest now.

Father dear—
Please don’t float away.
I don’t want to watch you struggle anymore.
I had all my life to understand—
and I finally do.
Now let me hold you tight,
and give you all the love I can.