Fatherhood
by Christina Ladd
Goemon! You stood
in boiling water
the pain crashing and crashing again
although your sea was only
as wide as a tub
It was boundless with
A father's suffering
You were condemned,
As you had known you would be.
But
Though the hard meat of your legs dissolved
Though your blood sizzled
Though your strong bones melted away
You held your son
above the water
Did the warlord see your pain
and relent?
Was he amazed at your heroism
touched by your devotion
Or was he unmoved?
Did your son succumb soon after
your arms gave way—
the last to go, even after your eyes, even after your heart
It didn't matter.
Even if it only bought him
One moment free of pain
It was worth your life
and more
it was worth your suffering
Many parents feel this
but do not show it.
They have no chance; or
they do not know how.
(Short of boiling, which is not done
any more.)
Some parents do not feel this at all.
My father would say,
"If I have to boil,
you boil too."
So I dream of hands
to hold me up
I dream of being
so vastly unworthy
that I can do nothing but accept being raised
and hope, in turn, to set my hands to holding
holding
holding
even if the world boils away
holding
something precious
above myself
Holding to your example, Goemon
instead of my father's
who was never brave enough
to burn.
Christina Ladd (she/her) is a writer, reviewer, and librarian who lives in Boston, MA. She will eventually die crushed under a pile of books, but until then she survives on a worrisome amount of tea and pizza. You can find more on Twitter @OLaddieGirl.