Birthday

The shifting climate produces
In the country a freeze which reflects
My reaction to everything these days.

I find myself possessed by the many
Insignificant and irreversible truths
Of my life, and am plagued by regret.

Hooked to my belt everyday is a pouch
Of salt so that a pinch is always within
Reach when something invariably rots.

And I have adopted a pessimistic view to
Every act of life because all I expect is for
Decency to give way to apathy in the end.

But then mother told me something which
Stopped my existentialism in its infancy:
That today is your birthday, Big Man.

It has only occurred to me how much
Of my life I have lived without
The advice of a father or father-figure.

And it dawns on me, too, how even
In death our relationship mirrors exactly
What we would have become regardless.

You and mother could never hear me
Scream or shout, or cry alone in the dark,
So what hope was there for conversation?

Though you never chose it to be this way,
You did choose to leave, and your departing manner -
Buried in silence, without a single word spoken.

And though mother tells me again
That today is your birthday, it makes no
Difference to the reality of my existence.

I went from seeing you once a week
To not at all, which was as easy a
Transition as one could ever ask for.

Mother feeds me and washes my clothes,
So while her and I fail to communicate on
A real level, she is there at the most basic.

You could not be here, Big Man, because
You chose to die instead of facing your issues
Like the man you were built up to be.

And I would be lying if I said a similar flight
Had never crossed my own mind - but your
Boarding it first is what keeps me breathing.

So at the third time of mother’s mention
I present to you your birthday gift today:
A thank you for playing a part in my creation…

And the truth that you will never define me.