Songs of an Absent Father

Old Poetry Stash (Summer 2018)

He wrote the same

melody for our mothers

with different pens.

Daddy was a rolling stone

orchestrating symphonies as he strolled.

Paths can get cold and dim

when walking alone. The pain

trapped behind these walls

can be heard from miles

away. Somehow our mothers

still worked wonders

when it came to molding men.

Mine a Puerto Rican Goddess,

yours a Black Queen from the Bronx,

he tried killing them softly as the song’s

notes expanded the distance between us.

Our first collaboration wrecked nerves,

what if this feature doesn’t work?

Our identical grins shattered anxieties

as we tore old pages apart,

clearing way for brand new notes.

Behold the brazen brothers rewriting lyrics

to their absent father’s beat.