10:22pm November 16, 2014

My Father’s Beard

when I was a child
I played with my father’s beard
sitting in his lap

when he was dying
they cut off part off his beard
to mail it to me

I would cry except
all my tears are locked inside
they cannot come out

some things are too hard for tears
some things turn my face to stone
some things make me ache to cry
some things make me ache and ache
no matter what, tears don’t come

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