To Dad

[Lawrence]

And
Went
Down
Stairs
Into the unlit basement
Of your memory; of our times spent
Conquering roller-coasters,
Nursing cavities with Butterfingers,
And the feeling that, by movie night’s end,
I'd watched more decapitations
Than an overworked undertaker.
One day, I no longer fit on your shoulders-
And then what happened?

The basement is what’s left. It’s small-
Like crawling into an underground office
Of clutter and centipedes. When you first left
I could spread out my arms down here,
And there was always some light.
Now, I can’t move without hitting my head,
Or slamming my shin, or stumbling over
Some ancient pain planted in the dark.

I don’t know why I go. Maybe to open
A box of photographs, and laugh at the way
You put me in a play headlock in that picture;
My grin defeating your grip, teeth peeking
Over your massive arms. God,
I never got out of it.

Some nights, I sit for hours
With grief's elusive engines,
Wishing that love wasn’t a pit-bull
Who locks its savage jaws like a vault;
Knowing that always, the heart will hold
What could have been
In its crippled hands.






I don’t understand.