My father’s heart, my own
In honor of our love
When I was six
we sat in a circle with some other kids and their parents
hearts on paper
with markers and paint
you held me in your lap
and helped me color in the contours
of the heart you made for me
vibrant reds like the robes on monks
bled through the page
You were bleeding
your brain filled up with blood
it happened just a few days ago
I watched as it happened
the happening
your face
who can forget a father’s face
in pain
doubt
fear
I remember the smiles
before the storm
how we went round the circle
and shared our little hearts
you held my little heart
to your chest
and it became our little heart
what I’m trying to say is
we share a heart
That when it was our turn
we introduced ourselves
by the same name
we were the same person
the same heart
the same red
beating
bloody
hurting
heart
