Poem….Dad

[Mary Ann]

So, to give context, this is about my passive Father, who overlooked my Mothers abuse and neglect...and pretty much everything else, but I thought the world of him as a kid, felt sorry for him even.
The way our family looked was very important to my parents, they thought we were better than everyone else!

DAD.
'My Dad would go MAD
If I wore a skirt like that!'
'....So would mine' I breathed fervently,
Meaning and believing every word
And it was almost true in its way,
Because people can SEE a skirt.
It's length, and the way I spoke
Broadcast what my parents were,
Which was clearly better than everyone else,
And so I spoke respectfully, almost quaint
So old before my time
Never answering back, or saying No
Wouldn't dare to use an adult's first name
It was 'Auntie', or 'uncle', even strangers to me
Or Randy old men, unworthy of respect
And who cared about Randy old men?
I sounded right and seemed ok
If you didn't look too closely

I loved my Dad so much I wore his shirts to school.
Not that it mattered,
My own were mens, and not new
From big black bin bags
Of jumble sale cast offs
Dreary leftovers from someone else's life
But if my shirts were Dads, then my bras were all Mums
Beige, middle aged, broiderie anglais,
Too big for me, too tight...un comfy for her
And so itched as I wore them
Like lamb dressed as mutton.

I loved my Dad so much I wore his shirts at home
Flannel ones, checked, for work
Still smelling of oil, diesel and him
And when I traveled a long and lonely road
Tense, with a grown man with too many hands
And great expectations, for a lay by in the dark
It was Dads shirt he undid,
Unbuttoning it desperately, urgently,
Clumsily, like a child unwrapping a gift
Only I was the child, in a middle aged bra
And I laugh looking back at the irony
Dad asked no questions about where I was
Didn't even ask who drove me there
He'd sigh when I took his work shirts
But I'm not sure he missed me at all

Mum always wanted something, everything!
Weeping and sulking, a demanding child,
But with God like powers,
She'd control the very climate with the weight of her mood,
And Dad kept a different face for her,
A wheedling, cajoling, pacifying  one
Quite unlike the haughty face he wore outside,
Like shoes he changed when he went indoors
But he was as scared of her as I was,
Only with more face to loose

I loved my Dad with a bright fierce love
Based on the fact that he wasn't Mum
And that he told me stories when I was small
He liked my company well enough,
But to me...God wore his face!
I've never had a hug, or a kiss,
Or was told well done
He's never once used my name!
But I loved my Dad with a bright fierce love,
And if pushed I would say he was 'fond' of me.

[paul72]

wow thank you for sharing this
I don't know how to respond tbh but I hope writing this brought you a little bit of peace and I thank you for your courage to share.

[bluepalm]

Oh Mary Anne, what a devastating story - but brilliantly told. A compelling read. Your experience, compressed into the discipline of a poem, resonates with me in many ways and and so, sadly, is comforting to me. A devastating, brilliant poem. Thank you for sharing it.

Have you read Gregory Orr's wonderful book 'Poetry as Survival'? The impact of your poem sent me to the bookshelf, determined to re-read his book. Mary Oliver, another poet who writes masterfully of emotions, provides this acknowledgement of Gregory Orr's book:

"Gregory Orr's thesis is the transcendent power of personal lyric poetry, its balm, and, far more than that, its ability to enable persons who have undergone trauma to fortify and in a sense to re-create  themselves by speaking out through the exactitude and dignity of poetry."

For me, your poem 'Dad' has that quality of re-creation 'by speaking out through the exactitude and dignity of poetry'.

[Mary Ann]

Thank you so much for reading, and for your kind words....I haven't read that book but I will definitely see if I can get hold of it, sounds like something I'd enjoy reading.

[rainydiary]

Mary Ann, I appreciate you sharing these words.  I felt it in my heart.