Ode to My Parents

I am made of stone.

 

The years have eroded me into what I am,

A poet,

A daughter.

Carved by the finest of artists,

My father shakily holds a chisel 

While he hums the wisest songs,

I hope he knows I understand.

My mother, carving the small details

Into my eyes, the way they see this world

She is precise.

 

My parents

Never thought themselves to be fine artists

But they tell me I am the best decision they have ever made.

If we sweep regrets away

With the chipped marble and sawdust,

 

What is left of this masterpiece?

 

Memories,

Sunlight streaming through windows

Landing on a single twin sized bed.

Throats burning from

Harmonization,

Words spoken in languages

I don't think I will ever understand.

 

I may sit on a pedestal,

But my parents are altars

And I am a sacrifice

To a God we do not worship. 

If I had to pray,

I have only one wish.

 

I will do anything to make them proud.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741