My house stands in beauty,
its corners perfectly clean,
Walls bathed in hues serene,
its floors a polished sheen.

Once in a while, we dance through the woods
And swing from the swaying limbs
Of my broken family tree.

Yesterday was your birthday.

I saw the calendar and reflexively panicked.

Forced to honor you for so many years

While that date meant nothing but grief.

Blanketed by sparkling skies
Cloaked in dreams romanticized
I felt a sound
A rumble in the distance
Grew louder with insistence
It threw me to the ground

I lost my father when I was five.

He died last Friday.

He gave to many, withheld from some.

His musical talent flows through me.

But so does a melancholy born of a tender age.

I grieve—not for what was

But for what could never be.