My Father Poem by Edward Lemond

When my father was alive,
We had very little to say
To each other, but now

I talk to him all the time.
I'm more grown up and allow
Myself to say things I never

Would have dreamed of before,
Things I thought were forever
Buried in the past. Sometimes

I'm angry, not at what he did
but what he didn't do, crimes
of the heart, the way he kept

His feelings to himself, shutting
Me out. Only recently have I wept
For him, and for me, and found

What there is to love and admire
In him. And now I am bound
To him by the strongest of ties.