Pa

I thought you were brutal like
an arid loaf of bread that would break
in my jaw for too many mornings
with the scent of old people and their
shrivels dying slowly and solely; I
tried to chew your words before they
chew me away but my teeth crushed
and smashed themselves
not to hurt you

No wonder time often felt like
it saved a moment for us,
I loved you
like no other man - even when I
spoke Russian, I'd forgotten the Hermitage
and your picture had filled my mind
no matter how many times I needed to
hide it in the pockets of shelved albums
and un-perched birds.

You were a bit brutal, nevertheless

I still remember how Jasmines
crooked on your shoulders and all
Syria's hungry rivers fell down on
your cheeks; you even called me
'fragile' at some point and said that I
was more vulnerable than grandmas bag
of coffee.
My eyes mimicked a pair of patched
socks, papa, but you never
wore them to feel their cold.

I thought you were brutal but I know now
that the absence of Winter is even more
harsh than Winter.