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From: The Water Cage
Never
The night my father died
he hit me.
In an extremity of pain
or whisky-rage or both,
one arm dead already,
he lashed out with the other
to send me spinning
across the floor,
more shamed than truly hurt.
I took my tears and hid them,
nursed them
till I heard him on the stairs.
I'm sorry I hit you, he said
and I waited.
Let's make it up, old son.
Never - I spat out years
of resentment.
Never - and I turned away.
He left me then, and later
when I found him
the word was in the air.
Never - the dead forget
but a single word
can ride the living for life.
William Ayot