Honor thy father, pillar of a home,
and keeper of the flame

Honor his hand,
which I clasped through
the traffic’s roar that turned to a strike
I could not ignore

Honor his tongue
that split me clean in half,
left me with wounds I had not outworn,
who then offered pastries to repair
as though it could undo what I now bear

Honor the empty seat he never filled, one
I searched and scanned and grieved
And laud his fleeting ghost
at the very back of every row

Hail, he who knelt
to wrap my wounded knee
His prayers, his longing touch
that spoke more when he could not:
forgive me, kid, for all I have forgot

Honor the years
that turned his anger thin
and made his voice so small, apologizing in
the static of a call on a later night:
forgive me, child, I was never right

Praise him, who exists
as neither cruel nor kind
a phantom of a man, so undefined
who broke me first, then knelt
to call me home

Honor thy father, at last
the debt of all that has passed,
let me hold both the wound and the grace,
the shadow and light of his face
Amen to the man I have not ceased to love,
Amen to the man I forgive from above