CALL ME BELOVED

Today I move slowly; gentler mien.
Inner voices ranting, patiently listen
but I don’t take ownership.
Quiet startle realizing I’d forgotten
what my father’s voice sounded like
until I heard a voicemail – desperate,
older, now – familiar headmate. I listen
but I don’t take ownership. I gave up
self-flagellation five years ago, dropped
all his familiar wounds. Same ache, roiling
guilt sour like hunger pangs, almost can
understand the flailing – cornered, feral, but
today I move slowly. Gentler. Loose grip,
drop the feral terror. I don’t take ownership.
Familiar fear and fangs, nostalgic pangs all
never mine. Voicemail ends, silence echoes –
free, now. Listen to new voices, slowly.