The Garden Over the Graves
I don’t know what happened in the years I was gone.
What cosmic shift occurred
in the spaces of that house while I was away.
I wanted to know what she had said to him-
what golden standard she had met
that allowed all of the anger
to be sucked out of that man.
Because if a father was capable of being soft,
it meant he could control the fire.
It was a choice,
and he had chosen not to care with me.
I couldn’t accept the truth,
that a gentler version of my father existed,
but he arrived too late to save me.
A version that I would never,
ever,
be allowed to have.
My father had built a beautiful, peaceful garden
over the graves of my childhood memories,
and my sister was parading through it,
without even taking off her shoes.
The Sopranos
The Sopranos make me ill,
a TV show that causes sickness.
So, I don’t watch.
I try not to.
But I still get a line here,
or a reaction there.
I get just enough to follow the tone,
without knowing
the full story.
On the screen,
Tony is in the kitchen,
sitting at a table
with food.
Pasta.
Bread.
Something heavy,
something red.
He starts eating,
fork to plate.
Plate to mouth.
Again.
Again.
Mouthful after mouthful,
and my stomach tightens.
The TV is sharper,
louder somehow.
The movement of Tony Soprano’s fork
all I can see.
Fork.
Plate.
Mouth.
Again.
Again.
And suddenly
it’s not Tony on the screen,
it’s my dad.
And I’m no longer on the couch,
I’m back in a million moments
I’ve already survived.
I’m at the kitchen table,
an armchair in the living room,
standing in the front hallway.
It’s my sisters high school graduation,
and to celebrate I’m at a restaurant,
seated across from my dad
and pretending not to watch.
My dad is sitting in front of a plate,
sometimes too full,
sometimes already half empty.
Fork moves steadily up,
and up,
but his eyes stay down,
way down.
Not engaging,
just eating.
And part of me
is still there at that table,
watching something
that doesn’t look like anything,
but yet it feels like everything.
Looking back, it’s strange
the way things stay with you.
I have a million memories,
and the thing that sets me off
is a dude on TV,
eating.
Lola Weersink is a citizen of the Métis Nation of Ontario. She holds an Honours BA in English Literature from Wilfrid Laurier University, a Bachelor of Education from St. Francis Xavier University, and is currently completing her Master of Public Relations at Mount Saint Vincent University. A former secondary English and Social Studies teacher, she currently works as an Education and Partnership Advisor. She has a children’s picture book forthcoming from DC Canada Education Publishing.
