NaPoWriMo, Day Two, Poem Two

Kind of sloppy, but I tried.


Poem

I say my Pepe is bulletproof
as tubes and needles grow from him,
tended to by ICU nurses,
but it's still true enough
that no one would ask for proof.

I was raised around men
who seemed to be mountains,
peaks hidden in the curves of their elbows.

Even my father's father
shifted bolders in his knuckles
when he gripped my hand for the last time,
reaching from his sick bed.

My father's death
has allowed me to catch up
to what I was always looking up to find.
Instead of mountains, the shadows
belong to Sisyphus-trademarked
rocks, my father's and his father's
ony inches apart from each other,
waiting to see if I have the strenght to pass.