The Intractability of Time

I.
My father bought me a bike when I was nine

So that I could ride away from him.

He never asked me to come back

But I did and he seemed surprised.

My father’s desperation has grown with time.

Eager to create something

To compensate for all that he’s destroyed.

He created me.

And he destroyed me, and recreated me in turn,

Like a god trying to mold me in his image,

But like Adam, I rebelled.

II.

“Silence!” my father commanded me.

I was silent but my eyes screamed.

The silence buried me.

I walked around, choosing my words carefully.

Such was the silence that I could not contain a scream.

My father came and commanded me, “Silence!” once again.

This time I rebelled. I yelled, screamed, spat in his face.

He smiled. “Do as you must,” he said, and walked away.

III.

I see my father now and again.

He has pardoned my sin with silence.

Time has worn him thin.

He wrestles with death on a daily basis.

No longer does he command me to be silent,

But instead, bids me speak,

To confess everything that I have buried,

But I cannot, and he sighs, and walks away.

I do not expect him to return.