The thing is/my father is not/a saint/and never pretended/otherwise the thing is/my father is black/and this is a poem/with trees/but nothing dies/but not for lack of effort/the thing is that I don’t remember/the fight but it was a long time coming/in Omaha Nebraska/there were trees/I bled and was outnumbered/and that is all I like to remember/the thing is/I don’t remember what we fought about/until my jaw clicks/I don’t remember/how many times my blood/was fast at 14/but this is a blush/I can remember/I hated him/that day/that hour/his massive weight/which was a country/I could barely pronounce/I was prostrate and swelling/my mother screamed/and never stopped I ran/because that is my trade/because that was what my body was good for/in Omaha and anywhere else/I am not very fast/only leaking crimson/at the edges of my mouth/the thing is/that I do not know where I was going/I never do/my jaw clicks and I know only/not here/not here/not here/the thing is that I hid in the trees/the borders of where we were trying to leave/I pulsed/and cursed/the stars/the thing is that my father only ever hit me/in Nebraska/for cursing/he drove his fist/into my chest/and I couldn’t breathe hard enough to cry/mercy is not an heirloom/I swung wildly at the sky/then laid very still hoping not to be found/praying he would not come/and my mother brought me back into the house/pulled the twigs from my hair/pressed the steak to my swelling/everything until my blood was even more unrecognizable/the thing is/that he said he was sorry and I know that he was/the thing is that I did not forget/I never do/I remember everything we can call a tradition/the thing is that I learned the trees could not hide me/the thing is if I cannot hide there/it is just something I want to burn down/I wanted everything/to know my raw/and shudder/at the steak’s clumsy kiss/to stare only into red/I wanted to fight I wanted to win/the thing is/I love my father/I did not want to tell this story/but he bragged his victory to my sister/over Christmas once/and my jaw still clicks/before a storm/he told me like all Black children/I brought you in/I will take you out/I will make another/just like you the thing is/that the night my father almost killed me/I learned my mother/had a miscarriage before me/a boy/whose heart refused/to beat/his blood placid/like a lake/he had no name I was already the replacement/and they loved me/and still do/so much they sent me to camp to climb things/with children who looked nothing like me/divine love/to put me elsewhere and hope I would float/the thing is/I had camp the next morning/and my lip would not retreat we told everyone that I ran/into a tree/we blamed the trees/for what only a hand/could build