I study myself and find him
in the ridge of my nose
in the rungs of my ribcage.
Boys who will never meet him
cup and bless my body
tug my damp underwear
past the knots
of my knees; they don’t see
him, they don’t see anything else
besides me.
And I am sorry
for all this sex
so close to my father.
But he is within me
even as he withers away.
Same flat feet, same bone shapes.
As any good daughter would,
I hug my father
goodbye at his red front door,
try to mean I love you and not
Don’t die before I learn
what love is for.
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