We Called Him the Head of the House

your body lies rotting beneath the ground
beneath my feet so i doubt these questions count

like why you held your money so tight
looking at us as if we were loons
asking for help and not your family in need

and why you told grandma to shut up that time
revealing your fangs, the meat dangling from your teeth
i, capturing the image so many times hidden from me

who did you love more, papa?
us or the antique cars?
us or the family on the side?
us or the money in your deep deep pockets?
no one questioned the head of the house
how well the blindfolds worked
you so kindly handed out

after the fuss
after my eyes were dried
after i stopped trying to miss you, papa
all i could do was hate you
i got your last glass of water with gritting teeth
and crumpled hands, my heart turning its back on you

however, i must say thanks
for teaching me the blues
seeing men coated in dark hues
the psychological blueprint on the waves
of my brain

papa
i have to know what rights
you thought you had
to keep us tongue tied and doing
it with the grace of a snake
speaking georgia lullabies to keep the mice still
crown royal breath to paralyze until the strike

let go
to fully heal
let go
in order to forgive
so on your grave i stand, lifting my head
to God and all his heavenly hosts
praying for peace
begging for deliverance