Blackened catfish

By: Rachel R. Baum

I don’t remember you said,

the fork in your veined hand trembled

and I think, we are talking

about your father, not some stranger.

This is you, picking at fried catfish

it was what you ordered,

but not what you wanted

you always get that confused.

He worked long hours, you told us

made sacrifices on your behalf

this is you, gazing up at the pedestal

where you placed him long ago.

Once, a truth blurted out, a recollection

cat-o-nine-tails wrapped around his fist

burn marks he seared into you, wounds

to your body, your young self

And yet, here you are, fearful of hard hot honest words

kindling that might torch his legacy

burn your own mythology to ashes

and now, time is bankrolling your secrets

The clock’s hands are as spidery and tremulous as your own

its just history, so unburden yourself

show me your heart, where he still lives

for when we lose you, we lose him too.

---

Rachel R. Baum is the editor of Funeral and Memorial Service Readings Poems and Tributes (McFarland, 1999) and author of the longrunning blog BARK! Confessions of a Dog Trainer. Her poetry has appeared in Journal of Expressive Writing. OneArt, Poetica Review, Crosswinds, and The Raven’s Perch, among others. She chaired the committee that selected the first Poet Laureate of Saratoga Springs, New York.