Dirges for all the men I’ve loved and lost
I should begin with you dear father,
for I want to mourn you every time you ask
how are you?
Knowing you don’t truly want to know
not how I’m mourning the passing of another lover,
not how God’s name is now lost on my lips,
You ask how are you,
hoping I will tell you the version of events that will please you
So I bite my lips,
when all I want to do is break into a dirge
You ask,
what next now?
Husband?
I chuckled when I should have said:
Remember when in fury I said to you
(when I was 18, in my most defiant and honest act to date)
that I would never marry a man like you
Well, I see you in all the men, Father
and I wanna run, hold them tight, fling myself at their feet,
hit them, laugh at them and with them and
whisper to them as I lay their memory to rest,
I loved you the right way, why couldn’t you?
