Elegy for Dad

Roaches slid behind my posters, scraping
their backs against the loosening paper.
At this point, it wasn’t even worth killing
them, there were so many. Mice in the corners.
Snakes in the kitchen. I would read
Dostoevsky, Plato when you stopped
taking me to the fields. You said there’s
no future in farming. Well, there wasn’t now.
You were doing the best you could. That
old chestnut. I was a boy, and I needed
so badly someone to care for me.
Fat tee shirts. Unwashed hair. Unbrushed
teeth. Failing my classes and not having
anywhere to put my rage. I kissed a gun barrel.
Skipped school and stole from wherever
I wanted. You were out drinking with your
buddies you hated. When I was younger,
I’d stand in your shadow, begging you to take
me home. “You can walk,” you’d say, pointing
into the night. What I meant was that it was just
me and mom at home, her crazy with dying. Me,
scared of an owl. I needed help.
You fed us. You housed us. That’s about enough
to keep you out of jail. My sister said the way
you died was drowning, lungs filled with fluid.
Heart failure. Morphine. Soft and safe in your home
with your round-the-clock nurses. It’s hard
to begrudge an old man his comfort. It was hard
growing up being taught that my everything
didn’t matter cause mom was dying in the other
room, dad was grieving without knowing the meaning

of the word. You could have done so much, so easily.

Raised on a rice and catfish farm in eastern Arkansas, CL Bledsoe’s poetry collections include  Riceland and his newest, Having a Baby to Save a Marriage, as well as his latest novel, If You Love Me, You’ll Kill Eric Pelkey. Bledsoe lives in northern Virginia with his kid.