I do not believe in god
nor all the applications and attachments
that come with him,
but yet, I still visit
my father’s grave and
light a candle in a church
on his birthday.
Occasionally I even speak to him
just to speak to him,
launch a “hello” into the space
where foolish men say hovers a heaven,
knowing no reply will ever come,
nor wanting one.
My father was a believer.
Even as a dozen ailments
land-mined his body and mind
he believed. If it had been any other person
I would have considered them a fool,
but he was my father, and so
it is for this unfailing belief
that I light these candles,
visit his remains,
speak these unheard words.
I believe in his belief.
When there is so little
in this burning world
I hold hope for
I shall always believe
in his belief.
