Daddy Is Dead
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Heidi Hoffman, Grade 11
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Poetry
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2022
Will you hold my dying hand?
Rainstorms crashing down on barren flesh
Smooth crisp skin a sizzling plasma wasteland
Raindrops mixed with acid
Will you hold my baby’s hand?
Old and fickle, turning like the wheel of time
Yet, young, young, young before his meeting with God
Will you hold my father’s hand?
Absence like the sun, absence like the moon
Flittering on the world’s edge
With me by his side, his beloved sun
Will you hold my daddy’s hand?
Girl as fair as mother, is mother, but younger. young. young. young.
He did not stop for my birth; he pretends it didn’t happen.
Could you push him off the edge, God? Maybe bring his sun with him.