The Father Who Never Was
Where do you place the sorrow
for something that didn't happen
There's no vessel for things
that should have happened
but weren't allowed to
Where does the longing
for the tiny fingers
wrapped tightly around yours
that never will
belong to
What box is the absence
of the finest angel strands of hair
brushing against your lips
archived to
A child-shaped space
forever trapped inside the heart
The memories you never made
dreams you never fulfilled
the lives you never lived
There's no name
for the father's pain,
for the loss and longing of
all the should-have-been
all the would-have-been
and all the could-have-been
