Did you know how hard it was?
I’d see fingers, levelled, ready.
Accusing and righteous somehow
Something I could not explain.
At the dinner table i said this
I’m a lone individual that felt it
Loud and with story
Not hidden, not worried on.
There was a history on my mam’s side
They stored it in a drawerful
Mahogany and black
waiting, collect and remember the hue.
The memories he helped
Piled up and made marks.