I have always wanted to write a poem for my father,
but have been unable to decide on a topic.
Should I write about his stern face, his ever-furrowed brow?
Should I write about the lessons he gave my brother and I
under the relentless sun?
Should I write about how his childhood came to a halt
when his mother’s eyes flickered out?
or when tears stained his face when I was born?
It is difficult to write a poem about someone
when you have only gleamed from a few pages.
I could fill the holes, gaps, and notches
with my imagination, clichés, and expectation.
It wouldn’t be a poem for my father.
It would be a poem for an image, a symbol,
No, this is it.
This is the poem for my father.