My father,
With the eyes of a small boy and the mind of an ox.
My father,
Who resembles my future husband.
My father,
The sound of my laugh and the pitter-patter of my feet when I was five,
and the loud silence of his absence.
My father,
With hands that have never wiped my tears or tied my left shoe.
My father,
With a fist for a mouth.
My father,
Who had no father.
My father,
With my blood and my nose.
My father,
With the mouth of a man and the voice of a liar.
My father,
Whose middle name I can’t spell.
My father,
The boys whistling behind me as I walk down the street.
My father,
A pregnant belly.
My father,
A husband’s absence.
My father,
The tears rolling down my mother’s face.
My father,
Engraved on my back, hiding in the corners of my mind.
My father.
My stranger.