He is your blood.

Cars are just cars
and not people going home.
Trees are just trees
not strong beings
reaching for God.
Mountains are part
of the road to get
to the place
where you eat and sleep.
Just a landscape
not living things.

How do you process the suicide
of the one person
you never found beauty in?
You are quiet,
reassure your mother
it was okay
to call you at work.
Explain.
Shake.
You let one or two
tears fall for him.
He's your blood.
You stop and shake.
And resolve to keep working
And sob
and explain, sobbing, to your boss
and run, sobbing, out of the office.
You scream at his ghost
on the way to your house
where you
eat, sleep, watch movies.
And you plead with your Father
to keep hands on your father
please don't let him...
...just please,
just help him to...
...please, just...

You thought you'd be relieved
when he did it.
You knew.
You saw his heart.
You thought you'd be sad.
He is your blood.
You never thought
you'd feel a first
real fear
for your father.
I don't know how
but please just
make him love.
Make him feel nothing but love.