I Still Prefer The Illusion

I didn’t go to his funeral when he died
I don’t remember now whether it was the stone cold stares
or the barely held amusement in their eyes
that raised the hairs on the back my head
all I know is that the feeling of disappointment
remains vivid in the day and night difference
of my childlike pre-conceived
illusion of him
this old man whose open face
held a mirror-image smile
who wondered aloud if I
was a long lost member of his tribe
and when he looked at my mother with
uncertainty in his tired eyes
he gently asked do I know you
memories of their six-month romance
had long since dissipated
in the din of his polygamous home
my smile threatened to crack
politeness painfully stuck on my face
my strength began to wane
my resolve started to shatter
like the cracked glass
I had always been
I felt deathly cold, more alone than ever before
for a second, the earth was eerie and still
as if to indisputably remind me
that I was a result of their illicit intimacy

PoP © 10 Sep 07