Dear Daddy,
I wish you hadn’t
lived by the sword
or left me with the
legacy of lying.
I want to know
why you went out
that day, driving
that dirt road
where you would
collide into fate
and the neighbor’s
front bumper. Did
you know, before
the bullet hit you
in the chest, that
it was the last drive
you would take? Or
were you surprised
at how swift
mortality came
screaming down
on you - time harpy,
all black wings
and forgetting.
It was August. Hot.
Bees droned under
an unflinching sun.
It’s seen plenty
of violence in its
light. Your body
slumped in the truck
nothing remarkable
to the cosmos.
Tell me your last
thoughts that had
nothing to do
with me, or regret,
or anything at all
to help me wash
this down. Tell me
again how you’re
never going to die.
Sincerely,
your daughter
who was not
a son.
About the Creator
Pia Banton
Poetry, occasional fiction. But always the poems. Over caffeinated, up all night.
Visit me on Instagram @piabantonpoetry
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