On Reading Frank O'Hara's "To My Dead Father"

You never call me father
wherever I am is too
far and beyond the stretch
of real in which you move

I can't believe what you
say or what you said when
first you planted in my
five year mind resentment's

spiny seed its spikey barbs
have become my mohawk's
uneven points you
ought not mention seeds

And should not mock my
face with a nose like yours
nor number my ribs when
I pull my shirt down don't ask

that I try to be your
son understanding all you've
uncreated not nurtured
father I will create! father

I have made your seeds my own


©2002 Matthew Ephraim Duncan

 

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