Dad says he thinks about him a lot
I think about him every time I see hasty paint jobs
I think dad brings him up out of   fear
There’s no lying in his sadness across this broadband network
But I think its fear;
                The kind that rumbles like heat haze under where your lungs should be
                The kind that dives inside your stomach, fingernails curling against you –
I think its fear that always takes us back to this topic
Because he can’t ask me to love life,          our leaning towards fear is inherited
The family trait is a sadness                      and I see flecks of it in everyone I love,
and he does too.
                So he tells me in whispers over a broken connection,
                    that even the people we only saw every second orange sliced day
                    we still see in the darkness of our eyes even when they’ve been dead two years now
he says he sees him walking the dog            it’s not out of place for him           he sees him so normally
he says it hurts to remember someone he didn’t know
we always leave the rest suspended in the air, hanging
I tell him things are okay
That my life is picking up pace and I wish he were here to see it
I’m sorry,
                it’s only now you’re gone
                                that I don’t want to leave.

– Hai Xia Wang Pole