Conversations with My Father
Learning grace in the empty spaces, in the mercy of small talk
He asked about the weather,
about the kids,
about church attendance
and trusting God more.
I answered each question
as if it were a door.
Some stayed closed.
Some opened into smaller,
quieter rooms.
His hands shook
when he turned the pages to Job.
I didn’t mention it.
Instead, I said the moon
would hang full tonight.
We both turned
to where the sky begins.
First published in Brawl Lit
As always, a huge THANK YOU for taking the time to read my poem. Without you, my voice would be a whisper just floating in the air.
This strikes me as a beautiful walk through the abstract vagueness required in delicate moments with the people one loves. I love the "door" parrallels. Thank you.
So delicately expressed. I found conversations with my father could be difficult if we were to maintain peace.