The Half-Orphan's Father
The Half-Orphan's Father poem stories
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sedehaven
sedehaven I am writer. Hear me starve,
Autoplay OFF   •   4 months ago
I cry over what he could have been, not what he was. Yeah, that's him in the beginning with me, my mom, and my brother. And that's his tombstone at the end. TW: death, grief

The Half-Orphan's Father

A knife took my father

A knife took my father on a hot September night

A knife took my father on a hot September night in 1997.

A knife took my father on a hot September night in 1997. I was sixteen.

I have spent better than

I have spent better than half my life being

I have spent better than half my life being half an orphan.

My grief is a watery hole

My grief is a watery hole in the street that looks

My grief is a watery hole in the street that looks shallow, but can swallow

My grief is a watery hole in the street that looks shallow, but can swallow a car.

Can swallow my heart,

Can swallow my heart, sometimes.

I do not grieve the man,

I do not grieve the man, he was a poorly-packed

I do not grieve the man, he was a poorly-packed firecracker,

I grieve the statue

I grieve the statue that I built

I grieve the statue that I built in heart and mind

I grieve the statue that I built in heart and mind and soul, that I molded

I grieve the statue that I built in heart and mind and soul, that I molded with his features--

I grieve for my creation

I grieve for my creation whose happy stories

I grieve for my creation whose happy stories I wrote,

I grieve for my creation whose happy stories I wrote, or spun a bit.

This fiction of mine

This fiction of mine that I call “Dad”,

This fiction of mine that I call “Dad”, shining and whole,

while the real thing rots

while the real thing rots in a deep, deep muddy hole

while the real thing rots in a deep, deep muddy hole in Pennsylvania.

Thanks for reading. This poem and more are on Tumblr @sedehaven.

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