on the anniversary of my father's death
at some point I gave up &
just avoided the man
as much as I could
even on holidays
when my aunt invited him
out of pity or duty or some
misplaced idealism that we'd
pick open scabs we'd rather
ignore & when the call came
about the fall, the cops, the strokes,
I laughed when asked
if I wanted to take the reigns
of the estate through probate
because of course there was no will
but my youngest brother stepped up
where I tucked tail & ran & kept
running even after the crematorium
& the headstone & the tears
didn't come until two years later
at four a.m. waking from a dream &
I felt the weight of it on my chest
like a cat purring when my heart
catches but even then I rolled over
& it slunk away — how easy it is
to hold a grudge against a dead man
to break a cycle only to find
yourself back at square one