The Man Who Killed My Father
He wasn’t an unfamiliar face.
In fact, he once stood in my father’s place.
He taught me how to till the soil.
He anointed my naked flesh with baby oil.
On my third birthday, he helped me blow out the candles.
He bought me my first pair of red, glittery, jelly sandals.
He bought me a bracelet with each of the Ten Commandments dangling on a charm.
When I was a tiny girl, he let my sister’s and I dangle on his arm.
We walked to the park as I skipped, and he held my hand.
When no one else could see my reasoning, he could understand.
He used to say that I was an intelligent, beautiful girl.
If I put my mind to it, I could be anything I wanted in the world.
When he was at dinner, I was privileged to bring him his plate.
I took note and mimicked the meticulous way that he ate.
He told me and my siblings great, adventurous tales.
Once he bought my nine year old, big sister a white, wedding veil.
Without warning one night in the late, dark hour
He stole my innocence and killed my father.
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