Carbon Copy
Posted by Joshua Bennett | Filed under Poetry, Print
He may never know
that there are fireflies
growing inside him.
Wings threatening to sprout from his spine
if he would merely reach toward the heavens
my father
is no hero.
He’s a postal worker.
A Vietnam vet
with a Jim Crow education
six children
and enough regrets to fill a casket with
sometimes sleeps with his eyes open
as if he’s looking for 3 AM redemption
from whatever insomniac angels
may be still watching over his body
and with all his flaws
I still love him
with every bit
of the jigsaw puzzle heart
that pumps life through this thin frame
the exact same blood
that runs through my daddy’s veins
because no matter
how many miles I put between us
the undeniable truth remains
that I’m a carbon copy of my father
exactly 5 foot 10
170 pounds with not a muscle in sight
love to pretend
that we’re really good at basketball
and have this amazing ability
to emotionally damage
the people we care about most.
Take my mother for instance
the woman who gave me life
and the person my dad
and I owe the biggest apology to
for our unwillingness to be vulnerable.
Mom, I’m sorry
for being so ungrateful.
for not being satisfied
with the fact that most times
it was only you in the audience at performances
and watching me on the sidelines
But if growing up as a Black man in America
has taught me anything
it’s that there is nothing more dangerous
than telling another man
you care about him
so at this moment
right now
I’m choosing to murder the
monster that hides inside me
the one that keeps me from crying when I need to
and telling my little brother I love you
Dad
no matter what this world may say
you are an inspiration
a poetic painter on par with Pollock
turned being a mailman
into a metaphor
because for as long as I can remember
for 10 hours a day
every single week
he would sling a 100-pound sack of mail
over his shoulders
carry the hopes and dreams
of the masses
on his back
like a 60 year-old Atlas with
an Alabama accent
and though he may not know it
there’s not much difference
between the work he does every night
and the way I write poems
see my hands turn into carrier pigeons
when I pick up a pen
allowing my words to rocket through
the air like I was on a first name basis with the wind
and so as i long its cool with my dad
I’ll continue to believe that
the lights I write to every night
are coming from within him
the fireflies on his insides
the sunbeams that gleam
from his gut
as a constant reminder
that my father will never die
even when we forget to act like family
and he doesn’t have the insight
to see
that I’m the only 19-year old
I know who still wants to grow up
to be just like his Dad
that I’m fully aware
that no one else could possibly bear
the weight of my Earth-sized
insecurities the way that he can
and even when no one else gets him
his second- youngest son understands
that life ain’t easy
when you come from war
with a purple heart fastened to your chest
and a shattered one behind the seams
when you come home from war
and post office realities
are spawned as
the bastard children of your
law school dreams
I know what you sacrificed for me
and I promise
that i’ll use this God-given gift
to repay you one day
but for right now
Let go.
no one’s watching
it’s o.k. to be broken sometimes
let the lightning bugs loose
so I can illuminate the path for my children
and provide them with undeniable proof
that they are the descendants of a man
who held the stars in his stomach
could crumble a mountain with his smile
and spoke truth to his son
as if the entire world
were watching.
One Response to “Carbon Copy”
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kenya Says:
August 12th, 2009 at 11:16 pmwow…i’ve watched the video for this more then 5 times and every time im left speechless.
