Because Of You A Vanda Bloomed


Because of you a vanda bloomed,
an etherial beauty gone in a wink of God's eye.
Dad, I understand your fear now:terrified to get into the ring
like some fragile orchid defying the desiccating desert sun.
Dad, when you stepped into the ring
you laid them out like a bunch of palookas.
I cheered you on then, cheered for you and me.
Dad, I understand your anger perfectly now.
Jesus, you used to make me shake:some immortal Moses
towering over me, a staff of lightening flowing from your hand.
Or some absolute Ahab:
Pursuing the great goddamned white whale of death-
sadness and infirmity burning red into your eyes.
But I understand now:your anger was not at me
but at God you thought slept forgetting to water his garden.
Dad, I understand your sadness now.
I saw it in the eyes of a drunken Irish poet captivated by
a slivery thread of a gaelic moon, saying,"God's kiss, perhaps...".
Knowing it was ours not to own never to touch
but only to feel for the briefest of moments.
But I know now your greatest sadness was not at the world;
it was not death, nor had it anything to do with the God you wrestled
with all your life-it was sickening guilt for not saying
"I love you!"to your children and not knowing how.
But, Dad, know this now:Because of you a vanda bloomed.

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