A Father Shouldn’t Cry
by Marsha Barber
He shouldn’t take your hand
on the red couch
the night before you have to leave
and as he talks
his large hand shouldn’t
grasp your small hand
with the bitten nails
tighter and tighter
until it hurts
and you turn to look at him
his face clenched
his eyes filled with tears
even though grown-up men
don’t cry
and you’ve never seen
a daddy cry before
because you have to leave him
to go three thousand miles
away, to a cold land
and now you’ve made him cry
and this is wrong
because everything is
upside down
and your father
who should be telling you
that everything will be all right
is telling you with his tears
that nothing will be all right
ever again.
Marsha Barber’s two recent poetry books, What is the Sound of Someone Unravelling and All the Lovely Broken People were published by Ottawa’s Borealis Press. She’s won many awards for her work and been long listed for the national ReLit award and short listed for the international Bridport Poetry Prize. Marsha has published in such periodicals as the Literary Review of Canada, The Walrus, Free Fall and The Antigonish Review. She’s on faculty at Ryerson University in Toronto.
