A voice so feeble

Mine resisted closeness

My father’s shifts

and deflects

blaming absences on flat mountains

and green grass

I could smell his words, toxic to my taste buds

acidic to my soul

fumbling excuses blown around like dandelion petals

I could hear his eyes search for more of them

proving to me

you didn’t need mountains to build a mountain town

Wherever he lived he

invited in strangers to love

and beat those who longed to sit at his table

suggesting the grass on our lawn was only yellow