The Odd Pair


Looking through photographs of old,
edges worn and turning brown.
I see a little girl with dark hair
and large brown eyes.
I know her,
She is me.
Next to her is a tall handsome man
with raven black hair, slicked back.
He is so handsome
with olive skin and dark eyes.
He is dressed meticulously.
The little girl is in old clothes,
not dirty, but worn, and she has
no shoes and no socks on her little feet.
Her dark hair is tousled.
I notice his shiny black shoes,
they look new.
What an odd pair they are.
Do they belong together?
She is me.
He is my dad.
The man who sired me.
A stranger.
This must have been one of
the few time he came home and
stayed for a while.
Now that he is gone,
and I am married,
with a family of my own,
I look at this picture,
And I get chills.
I don't know him.
I never knew him.
And I begin to cry for that man.
That man that I desperately wanted to know.
I don't ever recall his arms around me.
Or a kiss, or a hug.
When he did come home, occasionally,
there were always big fights,
aruments, screaming,I hated it.
Loud angry words, and I always wished
that he would leave again.
It was quiet when he was gone.
We had no food, but it was quiet.
He grew old, and I grew up.
In his later years he had cancer.
And I cared for him, I was the one who
drove him to the doctor.
Today I look at the picture of the man
and the little girl.
That terribly handsome man,
and that little girl.
They just don't fit.
They don't seem to go together.
They are an odd pair.
He passed away.
I wonder where he is now.
I wonder if he ever felt remorse
for the neglect.
I forgive him.
But I am sorry
that I was his daughter.


Floria