I sometimes find my Dad sitting next to me in my car

Not exactly him but some likeness, a vision from afar.

I can’t exactly see him clear

But either way it’s nice to have him near.

I sometimes find myself talking to my Dad,

Sitting next to me, in my car

It’s good to talk after all these years and I suppose he’s not really there

But it feels so good, so I don’t really care...

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There’s a floor called race and a home called blood,

it can be what forms you.

It can be what clothes you, what warms you as it flows through your body,

a rich honey providing brotherhood, relation, family and love -

bonds of pride which cartwheel through your body.

I have a mystery and in my father lies the clues.

I had droplets of speciality, uniqueness, distinction, excitement...

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She  was born from a parent
who left her at a young age
to be raised by a monster.

This monster created
such fear and depression
for this poor young girl.

The monster she feared
was there everyday waiting
for when she got home
or for when she woke.
The monster she didn't love
broken her down far too much
that even a thought of it
or the thought of being home
would make her panic.
...

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The following is a dream. In a small way I hope the ending comes true

My Mother, Sister, Brother and I check into a hotel room.

When we enter the room my Dad who passed away

almost five years ago is sitting on the bed.

We ask, "Daddy why are you here?" He says "I wanted to

see my family." We are overcome with emotion and hug

him. We are all talking at once.

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