My Father

I remember hardly anything, except his love.

It’s ability to rupture my sadness. Bind my anger.

The way his lips kissed my peach fuzz cheeks,

Drowning the uncertainties of a 9 year old boy.

His laughter, a Godly thunder from below,

Reached into my soul, filling its empty spaces

My innocence defined by the contours of his hand.

And how I long to be molded once again.

If I only could feel his lips upon my cheek,

To soften coarse skin. To shape unfamiliar places.

No, they were stolen, never to be returned.

so I sit and think of how life would be

And then I realize all I know would be lost

A different life I would lead and it's then in that moment

I realize God's hands have always been around me.