Cleaning out my mother's things
was very sad, but somehow easier.
My father left his secrets much
too deep to be endured. They seemed to
crawl up with the roaches in the basement.
Like the ghosts within the noose he'd almost
used to hang himself. I remember a day when
I sat by the river. I felt the extreme of his touch.
Just that once was more than enough,
but worse was lingering within him still.
Wishing myself dead while realizing that
the feelings came to me from him instead.
The years went by. My father died.
He sent to me his burning agony.
Only then, did mother tell me true.
To my great shock, she'd even saved the noose.
One little bit of truth can make
so many things begin to fall in place...

? Michaelette ?