If You Were Here

A letter to my dad, long overdue

If you were here…

I’d hold your rough hand worn from time weakened from chemo between mine.

I’d find those green grapes that night you asked. I’d search the aisles not fail the task.

I’d return, alone perfect, plump fruit in tow. I’d sit with you watch that boring show.

I’d speak the words aloud the ones that required courage the kind I never found.

I’d reach you before your last breath not wait till death.

I’d release you from expectations you’d never meet.

I’d accept you without judgment not an easy feat.

I’d call you just because I’d want to.

I’d disarm. Let you in wear your shoes forget your sins.

I’d open my heart for you to break.

I’d ask about her my sister the one who died.

The one you saw when you looked into my eyes.

Green, like yours. Like hers.

After she pulled the trigger, that’s the only you I knew.

Broken in two.

I’d tell you with love I’m sorry. I forgive you. And so did she.

And then it’d be your turn to say this to me.

By Adrienne Parkhurst