Behind The Door

By Jacob Thomas

Son, can you share a memory with me?

One unblemished by the sorrows you had to endure.

From before life lost its charm,

When your smile last reached your eyes.

You used to run towards me

With your bruised knees and eyes full of dreams.

With laughter that echoed off the walls.

Now replaced by a deafening quiet.

You say that everything is fine

With a voice more haunting than silence could ever be.

I know the weight you carry is immense,

And I'd do anything to relieve you, even for a minute.

You seem to remain silent now,

Not the peaceful kind, though,

Like you're buried beneath your own skin,

And I can't dig deep enough to find you.

I talked to doctors in hopes that they could help,

But they said that the space would do you good.

I was forced to listen to your muffled cries from behind the door,

My hands hovering over the doorknob, like they could reach you through the wood.

They told me that I had to be patient,

To trust that healing would take time.

So I waited, watching you slowly fade away,

While your tears soaked the blankets I was unable to remove.

I wonder if I failed you as a father,

If I didn't give you as much attention as I should have,

If I was too engrossed in fixing the world around you,

That I didn't notice you were breaking on the inside.

Was it that I waited too long?

Did I dismiss your silence,

Not realizing it could be a prayer

In a language I never bothered to learn?

I was supposed to keep you safe.

But I let this darkness grow,

Take root in your heart under my own roof.

Oblivious, until it consumed you whole.

If you can hear me from under the covers,

Please. Just give me a sign.

Call my name, tap the wall,

Anything to let me know that my little boy is still in there.

By Jacob Thomas