You told me it hurt
Left bruises
Matched the beating of your heart
Still not sure which act merited such attention
Today you smile a little
At your childish terror of a fresh-peeled branch.

It hurt again
When you left
He asks when you'll come home
To return to work.

You always smile a little
When you speak of him
But it is a smile of derision
And acceptance.

I love your father
The man who left bruises still visible in your eyes
And nothing of himself.

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