Dear Dad

I wanted to be home for myself 

I was always waiting for you to come home

But you never did 

Or when you did you weren’t you

And then there were men that would

But they weren’t you

If you didn’t want to come home

The least you could have done was tell me

That it was still home

Even if you weren’t there 

But you never taught me that home is still home on my own 

even still

The way my eyes shift

Glazing over the products 

In a perfume shop

Somehow signals that I’m still heartbroken

Because maybe he can see that when

My eyes search for a scent

That I’m hoping maybe something about it

Will remind me of you

When I hear that song come on in a coffee shop

I can’t help but think of the day when we asked to hear Frank off of Houston

And maybe you still walk by that coffee shop some days

But you’ve probably found a way to rewrite those memories

Instead of thinking of me and the home that we were supposed to have made together

And it’s not necessarily a longing

Because I really am happy

But what am I supposed to think

When a total stranger can still tell

That something is broken inside

La Luna

To run beneath the light of day 

Keeps consistency beneath your feet

But to run under the light of darkness is a movement so variant that it is never completely your choice

Because the sun does not change his shape

He burns the Earth’s surface bringing life but only by means of the processes of labor 

He takes our water and replaces it with growth but you must learn to rehydrate on your own because he will never move to give you rain, only when the clouds are fast enough to gain a lead

But the moon,

She understands the complexity of relief

And that some days she needs to give her guiding glow

Even when we are tucked cozily in the comfort of her indigo blanket

And she also concedes that there are days

Where we would rather hide under her layers

Only feeling the pins and needles of the starlight that pitters and patters like rain falling on the windshield of a closed car

His heliocentric warmth paints my skin on summer days and cuts the biting winter air. He makes the water feel just a bit better and allows me to see just what is there for me to see.

But the moon,

She knows,

She knows that in the depth of her bounds we find solace in solitude and comfort in confusion and delight in disorientation

She shifts and shapes her shimmer to show us the shadows aren’t so shady at all

Even the insomniacs can turn to her in their restless roaming because she is reacting in hopes of returning them to relaxation 

The moon

She knows