Father
I must confess that I once dreamt
Of a knight of noble honor
He existed in the first specs of my memory
Which grows weaker as my mind grows ever-expanding chasms.
He was there that day, in the field
When the plump lady lay the tablecloth on the grass.
He looked a sight, I could see him in the house looking out at us
His armor coated in soot and dirt, his pockets bulged with the scant spoils of battle
A stark contrast to the vision of yellow daffodils, blue skies, and clean, green grass.
I was angry at him, for he could have donned his armor away
His tired face had upset me so, why did he have to ruin this beautiful sight?
He disappears inside, a somber walk
I was pleased back then, I'd secretly hoped he wouldn't come join us
He'd look rather odd, for we did look ever so pretty.
Those memories of him were very much the same
He'd rarely look happy, or clean
I'd shout at him often, for he stank of coal and mud
He wouldn't say much, just walk away
A broken figure
A hollow man in that suit of tin.
But as my visions grew hazy and the sun grew dimmer
I feel the rush of panic as I grapple onto my memory.
Things began to change since that day in the barn
Since the day I had that awful fall.
Nothing to it really, nothing to make a fuss over
It was all rather peculiar if you ask me.
One day, the plump lady disappeared
The knight looked everywhere for her
And wept when he couldn't find her.
I looked at him, kneeling out among the scarecrows
Trembling shoulders and cold tears
He looked rather displeased.
I live in a chair now, a god-awful thing
Groans under my weight and quite arduous to sit in.
But the knight would sew pillows for me
I was rather surprised, I thought he'd be cross
After all, it was but a few days since I had shouted at him...
The knight rarely left my sight
He would wash me in the evenings, and don me with fresh clothes
He would rise early and bring me breakfast
He'd rub my feet and massage my temples, and the pain would cease...
I try to ask him his name, but he never understands me
He smiles sadly and caresses my cheek every time I speak to him.
It is rather frustrating.
And at night, he would carry me and place me on the thin bed
And lay on the floor close by.
Often, I'd hear him sobbing silently
Holding onto a small picture of the plump lady.
I wish I could comfort him
For all his frustrations, he is a rather gentle man.
I wish I could ask him what's wrong
But I don't know his name.
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