my dad looks at the sun

my dad looks at the sun
and calls it the moon
I scream
“but don’t you feel the heat?!”
my dad says
“heat isn’t something you feel,”
I watch the sun rays land on his face
so he moves us to the shade of a tree
I say
“you see dad
how the sun shines so bright
you take shelter”
my dad says,
“the moon
is beautiful tonight.”

I look at the bright sky
but fear asking him its color.
I look at yellow dandelions
as my father complains
of the dying red roses
where are there are none
I take the white parachute flower
and try to wish his ignorance away
but instead
pieces of me are taken with the wind
I grasp and grasp
but open to see only an empty hand
my dad
sits silently
speaks only to complain
“the moon is unlike I remember it,”
he says
“I know dad,”
I say,
“this one is brighter
so bright we take shelter under the tree,”
my dad nods
quietly
and I surrender to the silence
sometimes peace
doesn’t always look like truth
doesn’t always feel like fighting for it.

Sometimes peace
is allowing rage to live
in the lie of cold moon
when the sky
is brilliant blue and
skin burns from the sun’s heat
sometimes peace is no longer
screaming “wake up!”
but instead
it’s letting them sleep
and so I let my dad sleep
and I
no longer suffer in his slumber.

Instead I walk out into the sun’s heat.