Fabled Fathers
He grips the sword in his hands
Watchers gather around the stone
They coo, purr pledges of what he wishes wasn't true
My father pools my face in his hands
pleads for me to answer him but
all I can do is cry
The sword contests the man
his arms quiver like dried up leaves
He hugs me till I slip from grasp and
demand a more qualified father
All I have is a blank birth certificate
I am staying in this rock until
he hears of the 18 lost years