You grab some words and fling them at the page.
Unknown. Forgotten. Lost. Concealed. And Father.
You glare at them; they stare at you. You hold
their gaze for one last round of Who Blinks First?
For years they’d played this game and always won.
Unknown would never yield to simple truth.
Forgotten stayed forgotten; held its ground.
Lost and Concealed had formed a grand alliance.
Father was father to them all: concealed,
unknown, and lost to you. Forgotten, like
the waves forget the shore, or rain forgets
the cloud, or tears forget the sound of laughter.
But this time, as you look towards these words,
the truth comes into focus and the words
blink first. They look away, and Father is
no longer just a word, a thought, a dream.
And then it’s waves of laughter: raining tears.