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