I thought I was home.
I was in the arctic.
I climbed out of my father
and left his body upon the ice.
The relative temperature felt the same
against bare skin.
I mean I left behind his behaviors I learned
through childhood observation.
I mean I never want my hand
to make a fist to teach a lesson.
Not even to punch a hole
through the darkness in search of light.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney