Shadows

On a cold November day,
our patriarch succumbed to a broken heart
If you ask me, he was lacking grace and starved from goodness.
Everyone else will tell you he simply needed oxygen.

Even still, his absence left a wake in my momentum
A reckoning.

And as the well meaning wishes came our way,
accolades written to show I knew him and we breathed the same air once
I began to feel the dissonance rising in my bones.
I started reminiscing of life with him perched on his recliner throne,
demanding respect — the smell of pine and dusted leather
a memory etched into my nervous system.

The dissonance grew overwhelming—
the pulse of fear too loud to ignore

Because where they saw a man of God,
I saw a man of shadows.

He told me once I refused to let go of a rebellious spirit.
That all I had to do was release the hate in my heart
And I would be thin
blonde
beautiful
famous

He also told me I would suffer from the inability to forgive,
and as I reminisced I wondered why I never asked what he meant
did he know I would never be able to forget the feeling of her fingers on my skin?
Or that I wouldn’t be able to think of him without my throat closing up
and my heart rate quickening?
Or that his son would be the man who broke my heart
by choosing his kin
over his daughter?

Maybe it was simply a warning
what narratives point to as foreshadowing

Because as everyone celebrated a life well lived,
I couldn’t help but recognize
A man succumbing to his shadows.