A Letter To My Former Father: My Patricide to You.

I never knew the true meaning of ‘Father’, it was a meaningless title that felt so weighted with purpose–an expectation, an occupation you were ever so unfortunate to be handed.
Burdened by.
But, ‘Dad’ never felt right either, maybe a weekend or holiday father? Stranger? More forced. It was a role you were, again, struggling to play in a production with no script.
Dads, at times, are helpers, coaches, and friends.
But, it was the coat you borrowed that never quite fit, manufactured a size too big–way too big. With pockets that could only fit the occasional visit whenever it was convenient to you.
Only after the hangover blues
Benders that went over the span of weeks. The smell of cheap Coors and vodka–but still hard enough to keep you blacked out.
From remembering.
I remember finding myself observing other kids with their fathers–watching with ease, conversations that seemed so effortless, how they took the time to get to know each other.
From what I hear, the relationship between a daughter and her dad is one of the greatest joys.
I remember the uncomfortable caress from my abdominal arch to just below my navel.

Headshot

Kaysie Morin Prosper

Grade: 12 / CEGEP I
Oskāyak High School
Saskatoon, SK

“The inspiration for this poem came as a way to process the blank slate and empty feeling from not remembering my childhood. This poem was a way to express my acceptance of my fuzzy upbringing. ”

Bio

Kaysie Morin Prosper, a two-spirit indigenous artist, exploring art through painting and poetry, concentrating on self-awareness and societal reflection. Currently a graduating student at Oskayak High School, she is from Kawacatoose First Nation—born and raised in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. Kaysie featured at Regina Word Up with the Saskatoon youth team.

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