Visions of the past flickered before me, a spectacle
of nostalgia and fear. A stray echo pierced my flesh,
blood tracing a crimson path down my cheek,
the memory a bitter aftertaste best forgotten.
What can we do with the past? While unchangeable,
would we, if we could, reach back, just once,
and grasp what’s been lost? Would we pluck out a
moment in time when even the tiniest flicker
might hold enough sway to alter our course? What
if I hadn’t tugged at my brother’s hair that fateful
afternoon? I don’t remember why I did it — perhaps
a child’s caprice — but it ignited my father’s rage.
He’d always been heavy-handed, but now, he bore
the weight of storms. Self-control crumbled like
ancient cliffs, leaving destruction in its wake, and I,
a mere nine-year-old, found myself hurled into
the corner. He once played soccer with those legs;
I became the ball in a game where only losers emerged.
From the rubble, my hatred clawed and grasped,
seeking refuge in every crevice and cleft of that rocky
crag. He would always be defined by those thirty seconds.
But then, what if, instead, he’d paused, quelled his anger,
and let the thunder trail off in the distance? What if
he’d looked into my frightened eyes, tears pouring down
fully aware of what was about to happen, and let mercy
shower over me as one does with those they love?
Who would I be then?
Author’s Notes: When my father passed away in November 2020, I made a conscious decision to let the past rest with him. Speaking ill of the dead held no solace for me; I found no comfort in digging up old wounds. Plus, forgiveness had already taken root in my heart—not because he asked for it, but because I needed to move forward.
This moment remained unspoken, tucked away in the recesses of my soul. But as this poem unfolded, it kept pulling me back there, tugging at my emotions. Something whispered that it was okay to share.
Reflecting now, I wonder how deeply my past trauma has shaped who I am today. The scars remain, etched into my being, yet they’ve also molded my resilience. Life’s journey is about navigating both light and shadow, embracing the good and the bad, and finding our way through the intricate maze of existence.
I'm so behind on my reading (and writing)!!!! BUT I know I was Meant to read this wondrous poem today, not earlier. Today - after a phone meeting with my friend, a monk and priest. And what did we discuss? The hurt of a betrayal...how I can't quite unhook from it until I look deeply into the past (Erik Erickson stuff - stages of life) and grasp what is really being hooked. Then, presto - healing!
Such an incredible poem, Sam. The language you use to describe the anger of a father through the eyes of a child is so vivid. It caused me to reflect on my own moments of anger towards my son (while never physically abusive) — I find myself “letting thunder trail off into the distance” (for his sake and mine!) But I think of how terrifying those moments are for my son, before the anger quells. I know this was a difficult one to share. Thank you for your honesty. You told it gracefully and the honor is not lost.