A father

You text me asking how I’m doing,

11 months of silence it’s not enough for you to understand

the deafening sound of my indifference

And yet I feel the weight of a life without a present father

A back and forth between relief and pain

in the empty space left from your cumbersome ego.

You tell me that you want to hear the sound of my voice

a privilege you lost when your selfishness

prevailed on a father’s love

I listen to De Andrè and I remember

car journeys, us singing

“When my father’s heart stopped, I didn’t feel pain”

These words heavy, like a boulder

on the curls that we have in common

sometimes I see too much of you

when I look in the mirror

and I want to scratch every trace

of your genes

You used to love what I wrote

the only way to feel your pride

and now having ink on my fingers

makes me mad,

hating the idea of making you happy

I hurt in not being able to tell you about my life,

about the June sun that makes me smile

while I walk on the streets of the city I love

that welcomed me

about the new job waiting for me

about my desire of writing to

pay for my living

but I stay stubborn and let the poison

embrace our memories.