Maryam's Dad
Not am I great nor are my words,
for whatever they are worth.
I felt them, then considered them,
and grew them in the Earth.
Think not I come to draw your tears,
my mind is on her birth.
A little one I kissed adieu.
A minute blessed with mirth.
A kiss on the cheek.
She grabs my hand.“I have something to show you.”
Years of waiting:
( two solid | | lines )
“I wish you were home.
I’m bleeding
and I don’t know what it means.”
Doctors said it’s ok…
Just keep an eye on it…
We gathered on our bed.
“Really?”
A flicker of a wish fulfilled in his eyes.
“Really! You’re going to be a big brother.”
I glimpse a yellow box in the store.
Diapers, size 0.
“It’s a good thing we saved so much stuff from last time.”
She fills the hallway with old things to unpack.
At night she whispers to you.
Three bodies holding four souls,
driffft to hopeful sleeeep.
Hands limp above my head,
snoring, a little body tucked beside me <<.
“Wake up, I need you…
I feel something.”
“I’ve called my sister.
I’ve packed a bag.
You go get him ready.”
Even now she’s a force.
It didn’t make sense.
“Can’t we try something else?
Please??”
Meandering minutes,
hours of doubt.
“Maryam, yes. A perfect name.”
She’s coming very soon.
We’ll never give another gift.
She’s coming far too soon.
She pushed.
Her life slipped into my hands,
not written for this world.
Why is she growing colder…
Small hands trembled,
until they didn’t.
Time to smile now :)
I ask the nurse to capture us together.
But I can’t be all T_Teary eyed.
This is your first picture
with your dad.
I held you close with my warm hands,
I kissed you, cradled you, sang to you,
Even now you deserve this.
The nurses watched us,
hand in hand, walking out that night.
A first aid poster hung on the wall.
step ---- step
--—- step —---
Down the hallway.
Bright WHITE lights flooding our path,
it was too big for two.
Outside, the cold air draws a cry.
Slipping out into a new life.
“Are you here for the funeral?” they asked.
We gathered only once.
I washed your face, I tucked you in.
I clothed you only once.
For our kids we know the drill
Label, label everything
Shoes and bottles and jackets and coffins
I sharpied your name on the cold wood.
I claimed you only once.
I pointed at the smaller box.
“That’s my daughter.”
I swallowed.
Three words said only once.
I wore my best to see you off,
to shovel your blanket of dirt
Clump by clump it swallowed you up
Welcome home, until the world ends
I put you to bed only once.
Goodbye.
My shoes brought home some of your mud.
I haven’t cleaned them yet.
Your brother had a carefree way.
You were his only wish.
His calendar marked a special day.
He holds what men can not.
We gathered on the bed once again to tell him.
“Let’s play hide and seek! Join us!”
Recess has flown by.
One last glance at the grass,
just like his sister’s home.
He made a card
to cheer us up.
He told himself,
then he told us.
“Three is enough...”
Six is too young to live alone,
too young to drive a car.
So young to lose so much so soon,
so young to have that scar.
“ I can’t bear looking at all this stuff.
Pack it away again.”
Each grey hair a badge of honour.
She bore what I could not.
“So how many kids do you have?”
The air tries to flee≈ from my chest.
Does one plus 1
still equal≠ two?
I hate to lie, but I do.
My hands held her whole life
My hands washed and clothed her
My hands lay her into the dirt
These hands…
they don’t know what to do anymore.
The paper listened.
It didn’t judge.
It didn’t question my cuts.
The letters, the curves,
glistening red,
witnesses to my soul.
I’m not a poet…
I’m just a dad,
this is what emerged.
Exhale, inhale, swallow.
Exhale - inhale - swallow.
Don’t fall apart.
Don’t. Fall.. Apart…
.Exhale.
..Inhale..
…Swallow…
“Ready or not, here I come!”
I willed my breath to stop.
“There you are. Found you!”
Can’t. Breathe.
“You can’t h̸i̴d̷e̴ from me.”
It sank its teeth into my scar.
“I’m sorry I hurt you! I just … needed attention.”
It’s just a child, holding my arm.
“Spend time with me please.
I just need some love.”
The children inside us, they may try to bite us,
so let’s book a crydate for them.
Read them this letter,
to help them feel better,
from the kid who’s inside me, their friend.
Poets don’t need to hear my words.
Mothers and fathers do.
Nobody told us that children can die.
“We suffered this too.”
It’s not helpful now.
The living can still talk, can they not?
I can still talk,
so that’s what I’ll do.
No more lies.
I’m a father of two.
One is alive and one is not.
So when whispers malign us
“Your strength was found lacking,”
hearken your soul to these words:
We’re all just kids,
glancing at grass,
holding what men can not.
This isn’t a poem,
it’s just a balm,
and I’m not a poet.
I’m just a kid,
just a really,
really big kid.
This isn’t a poem,
I’m talking to you.
Spend time with me please.
I just need some love.
Look at my Maryam,
I’m so proud of her,
but I don’t have a photo to show you.
This isn’t a poem.
It’s an album of love,
it carries the weight of a life.
(Hey, I know this is heavy.
There’s no correct feeling.
Loss is the completion of love.)
This isn’t a poem,
it’s a bloodflower,
and I’m not a poet,
I’m a witness.
By His will I will endure.
Strength will descend just like a cure.
I’ll fuse the words into my bones.
And every night I’ll ask for more.
She’ll come to me when it’s all said and done,
a beautiful lady softly greeting,
Abbujee, it’s me. We met once long before.”
My bones release the brutal words.
My breath returns to me again.
“Look at you,” I’ll say. “Look at you.”
Nobody calls me this,
so I'll say it myself.
I'm Maryam's dad.
Next: Unheard