Entrenched
The house rattles, father and son
at loggerheads,
the father bitter that the son chooses
differently
with his fine, strong body that his father
cannot repossess,
the son flinching at the sear of disapproval,
its raw burn
repeated in an endless tallying of keloid
zeroes.
The father bellows from below-stairs,
hammers
the wall for good measure to bypass
the headphones
behind which the son swaddles.
So much time
lost fighting over the same ground,
trees blown
to stumps, blast craters seeping
and stinking.
Were each to stumble upon the other’s
body,
he’d find, tucked close, photos of the same,
house,
creased letters with Dearest in the same
hand.
by Devon Balwit
Editor’s Note: This poem’s difficult imagery conveys the difficulty of father/son love with great precision and emotional complexity.
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