Almost seven months to this day,
I saw my father for the last time,
And no, he has not met his demise
but he is quite the ghost to me.
He left when I was just a child
Yearning to make sense of the world,
And yes, my spirit warped by the day:
Anger,
Denial,
Resentment,
Bargaining,
Forgiveness.
Indifference.
Somehow, I’m breathing.
I’m alive now.
Free from a life willed by the hug of a father,
The embraces he visibly now desires
From a boy,
who never learned how to be his son.
He yearns for so much
But blood doesn't negate our unfamiliarity.
Lamar Neal [he/him/they] is a breaded-hair author of three poetry collections and one novel. His poetry has been featured a few publications. When he’s not writing, he’s playing video games, window shopping online, or going down the rabbit hole that is YouTube. Twitter: @ghostcharades