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he lost his hands
i'm not sure why he lost his hands.
but i remember when i was six,
he left the house with a bag full of tools,
a lunchbox, and a kiss on my forehead.
i didn't understand why people should go
and come back after two quiet christmases.
i'm not sure why he lost his hands.
but i remember when i was twelve,
he worked at a bakery shop, paid the bills,
and took home a handful of pandesal
so i could share it with my sisters.
i'm not sure why he lost his hands.
but i remember when i was fifteen,
he bought me a bicycle.
maybe it was the green light for me
to fetch myself from school forever.
or maybe, for the third time,
his boss rejected his vacation leave.
i'm not sure how he lost his hands.
but i remember when i was eighteen,
even on my graduation day,
when i delivered my speech.
i looked at the crowd,
searching for him,
but he wasn't there.
i wish he was there.
i wish he was there, applauding.
i wish i'd spare my little medals on his neck
and tell him how much he made me proud.
i'm not sure why he lost his hands.
but i remember when i was twenty,
when he hugged me from my back,
he crushed my spine,
poured out his longing pain
in 48 seconds straight,
and gave me those pearly eyes.
he asked me how i was,
but i'd only tell 'bout my childhood friend,
my elf garden, and my unsaid dreams.
"what about you?"
"could you tell me what happened next
to the story of a turtle and a monkey?"
i'm not sure why he lost his hands.
but i remember when i was twenty-three,
i got my professional license
and went to your stone,
offering you some local flowers and my badge,
sobbing out my unwished words.
© ubik
this poem is especially dedicated to MICHAEL, the father of the writco family. i salute all of the fathers in our lives, including our biological father, our uncle who raised us as his own, our single mother who raised us as well, our coworkers who took on the role of father at work, and anybody else who chooses to be a father! the ageless hero is you!
[image taken from freepik.com]
#ubikfeelsodd #father
@I_Am_Michael
but i remember when i was six,
he left the house with a bag full of tools,
a lunchbox, and a kiss on my forehead.
i didn't understand why people should go
and come back after two quiet christmases.
i'm not sure why he lost his hands.
but i remember when i was twelve,
he worked at a bakery shop, paid the bills,
and took home a handful of pandesal
so i could share it with my sisters.
i'm not sure why he lost his hands.
but i remember when i was fifteen,
he bought me a bicycle.
maybe it was the green light for me
to fetch myself from school forever.
or maybe, for the third time,
his boss rejected his vacation leave.
i'm not sure how he lost his hands.
but i remember when i was eighteen,
even on my graduation day,
when i delivered my speech.
i looked at the crowd,
searching for him,
but he wasn't there.
i wish he was there.
i wish he was there, applauding.
i wish i'd spare my little medals on his neck
and tell him how much he made me proud.
i'm not sure why he lost his hands.
but i remember when i was twenty,
when he hugged me from my back,
he crushed my spine,
poured out his longing pain
in 48 seconds straight,
and gave me those pearly eyes.
he asked me how i was,
but i'd only tell 'bout my childhood friend,
my elf garden, and my unsaid dreams.
"what about you?"
"could you tell me what happened next
to the story of a turtle and a monkey?"
i'm not sure why he lost his hands.
but i remember when i was twenty-three,
i got my professional license
and went to your stone,
offering you some local flowers and my badge,
sobbing out my unwished words.
© ubik
this poem is especially dedicated to MICHAEL, the father of the writco family. i salute all of the fathers in our lives, including our biological father, our uncle who raised us as his own, our single mother who raised us as well, our coworkers who took on the role of father at work, and anybody else who chooses to be a father! the ageless hero is you!
[image taken from freepik.com]
#ubikfeelsodd #father
@I_Am_Michael
