If You Could Still Breathe

Two years today

Nov 02, 2025

The story of this poem: It’s the second anniversary of my father’s death, and I took a few days off work to reflect. It seems like it's been a lot longer than two years; I certainly feel like I’ve aged more than that in my heart, anyway. When folks tell me I look young and that I have years ahead of me, part of me wonders who they’re talking to.

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published


IF YOU COULD STILL BREATHE

I can’t believe you fuckin’ died on me.
The absolute, hair-raising nerve.
I gave no permission,
I gave no leave,
And yet:

That’s the deal.
Here I find myself,
Wandering through the scrapyard,
Searching for the lost parts I can take.
I’ll accept something rusted,
Mangled is just fine,
If it’s you.

This junkyard
Is not like the ones
You showed me when I was young:
No smiling helpers to be found here,
Just some posted instructions.
There is a problem:
The sign’s gone.

What rainstorm,
What hands in work gloves,
What frustrated crowd of teens,
What sudden, alarming tornado
Do I have to blame for the
Lack of direction
I find here?

I won’t spin
Tales of where you went:
There’s no one to tell them to.
I bore no children from my body,
Never took anyone’s ring,
And to be honest,
Who even knows?

You could be
Hidden anywhere,
So I just focus on this:
When I look down at my hairy legs,
(Like I grow my own knee socks)
I can still see you.
There you are.

And sometimes,
There comes a moment
When your voice calls from my mouth,
Calming stormy waters with such ease,
Knitting up the torn tissue,
Gosh, I might as well
Be a witch.

It’s a bitch,
Knowing it’s just me
If I want to stay healthy.
You were the only one I trusted.
Mom was so damn mean to you,
But you were so kind.
Why not leave?

“Pack your bags,”
I wish you had said,
“Mommy’s not doing well, and
She needs space to get right in the head.
I won’t let her yell at you.
Kids deserve ice cream,
Not bruises.”

She hit me,
And I hated her.
You stood aside, abided,
And as I child I loved you for the
Peacefulness of your hands, but
You should have raised them
In defense.

So tell me:
If you could still breathe,
What would you say to all this?
Am I crazy, or were things a mess?
I know you did what you could,
I just wish you had
Self esteem.

I just wish you hadn’t died on me.