And there we are again,
in that field filled with sunflowers.
Pulling my mother’s hand to
hidden places,
so far removed from the storms
of my father’s domain.
Though I love him so,
He was a terrible captain.
Terrible and great and
angry-
Pulling the riggings all by himself,
knots layered over the calluses
bickering on his hands.
Storms screeching from
the pretender’s lips,
stowed away,
so safe,
in the captain’s own cabin.
There was no choice:
someone had to man the ship.