Hello friends! Today I want to share with you my personal expression of feelings for my father. He died when I was little.
If only it could talk,
The mirror in my bathroom would tell
The exact number of tears I shed
Before I washed my face into selected facet of normalcy
If only it could talk
The pen I saved in my locker for now 7 years
9 months and 28 days would tell exact word count
That I scratched in anguish, at times of self-criticism,
At times of un-treat-able ache
If only it could talk
The table with coffee mug marks
Would number the days I would be afraid to go near it
Or near the memories those 3 mugs camouflage
If only it could talk
The project file of my 9th grade
Would speak the marks I was awarded, not close enough
To the numbered days I spent making it
That made me question worth of my hours
If only it could talk
The pieces of my chess-set would yell in whispers
And guide you to kick down the black king
For the white of my skin I afforded couldn’t be silence.
If only it could talk
The DNA of cardiac muscles would recite
The story before people spoke about my days
More than my thought generating capacity
Before they were muted to death, under stone-heart.
If only I could talk,
I’d talk with silence, at least one of trust.