RichardNyxon's Sketchbook

2021-20??

Collages, writing, and little drawings, from the real world to your computer screen

he reminds me of
my father
(of course,
what else would he be?)
if my father
was interested in
musicals,
wine tasting,
the pros and cons
of renting a
washing machine.

but they
both
dangle praise
just out of reach,
keep their lives
unknown,
strike with the
same
silence, anger.

my father
never wanted a
daughter.
I could see it
in his eyes,
the sparkle
I had finally
earned.

he finds me,
smoking on campus,
walking to work,
asks me if I need
help.
he quit after
20 years.

I considered
my father
how he'd weasel out
of any attempt
to help him -
deep in veins
and strands of DNA,
excuses, excuses,
and shutting
off.

I shrugged at him.
I don't want
to quit yet.

she is no longer
a twisting knife in my
chest,

sharp, ever present,
the constant reminder of
my mortal flaws.
instead she is the ghost of
herself,
her words slam the
cupboards of my brain,
lift the candle to the
mirror I refuse to look
into.

her absence haunts my
bones,

but the thought of her
presence leaves me filled
with a sense of dread

that no exorcist, or
nightlight
could rid me of.