Bless Me, Father

by Don Narkevic

for I cannot remember my sins
or the name of the woman
they say I married in 1950.
I don’t understand why I remember the date,
our first, a picture show, Harvey, 
staring Jimmy Stewart as a drunk
who sees visions of a six foot-tall rabbit.
I don’t touch a drop, but I see things
for what they really are.
In my own reality, my children, I have
pictures, they are rabbits, easily frightened
by my fading memory, the fact that I am 
a dependent, not myself, a father no more. 
Father, I cannot remember my sons’ names
or the names of my daughters
they say I helped raise, each one
a Lazarus who refuses to come out of the tomb
of their selfish lives. If I had the strength
I would roll up my sleeves, grab their ears
and pull them out of the darkness
of an enchanted black hat.
But I am out of magic.
For these and all the sins of my life,
if you can remember them for me,
I am heartily sorry for. 

Don Narkevic: Buckhannon, WV. MFA National University. Current work appears in Literary YardAriel Chart, and The Lake. In Spring 2022, Main Street Rag will publish a novella of poetry entitled, After the Lynching.  

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