Very personal.(I'm taking a risk.)Any children of an alcoholic can relate to this.I was. |
Dad('Smokey') _____________ There he was. In the 'box'; flowers arrayed in some ersatz symbol of life. But they just looked grey, if there at all. Everyone called him 'Smokey.' To this day, I don't know why, or, if told, have long since forgotten.... go back.....shhhhh....go back... II Scene-[child's voice] Daddy Drunk! Daddy Mad! Mommy on Back, He pushed chair over! Yelling!Yelling! NO!NO!NO!NO! And all my 'armours ' slam into place; "Here's your CIGARETTES" I said, in a voice that didn't seem quite my own. I handed to her, hand miles and miles away........ III Shock: dull, electric wall barely holding back the tears. And, silly me, swore I wasn't, just wasn't going to. My brother gave a speech, a sweet, painful eulogy, and that dark charge, burnt itself out ; cathartic, resolved , all the pain of our young years. In its own weird way, slight magic; sad, sure, but transcendent. Could I have seen In sunlight, waving goodbye, in the trees, "Daddy" fly away with angels? I'm inclined to, can't and won't believe anything, anything else: A haunted, tortured man, finally found his angels. |