A Long Papyrus Bridge

Father
I like to read your letters
written on something like
what I use to roll around
a filter and loose leaf cut
of choice homegrown to

bacco before I set fire to one end and suck as a straw 

and blow out of my nose, thick clouds of white smoke

but were they gray when Rome was burning; you know

why they said it was us, right?  It's because we wouldn

't sing the theme song; they were so pissed when they 

found out and do you remember our smiles as we remai

ned seated at the ball game
?  because I can remember
you saying something about
his mother and I can remem
ber you looking into my soul
Father

did I know you?
before? because
you have built a
long papyrus
bridge that
stretches all the way out from your little Mediterranean island across a faithless Atlantic

and
a couple thousand years

and your ink mixes with the blood in my veins
what color does the combination of red and
black make? does it swirl as it would in a
syringe? because your words are the
wings of a dove and a black crow,
too and we caught them plotting
murder like a board-game of
Clue we know who tied the
noose and they put us
down dear father like
a lethal injection they
grind on those same veins that I mentioned before, they twist the same chest cavity that you once smoothed  dear father and the 3:19 a.m. no longer feels ok because we are dining on our own ashes here - at least, I am - and you kept trying to tell us, you kept saying those same words over and over - you said, "Get it son.  Catch this and run with it." in that voice so familiar it sounded like a neighbor

no,
better:
a savior

your ink cleanses the bloodstream

do you understand that father?
I pray to you, just like the Catholics
and I won't apologize for it
and I'll pray to every saint in the library before I go back to the church where they told me not to