The smoke sticks all over and lingers.
I’m suddenly afraid of man and his promise,
for it smells like a cigarette.
Whose father is this in front of me?
The hands on my shoulders are steady and sure,
but the man has aged.
I was introduced as talented and beautiful.
Underneath I know well that he would like a son,
as his father had before him.
The smoke had filled the gaps in their laughter.
I curled up in another room and played pretend,
holding back words my mother might have said.
Sips of beer were taken across the table.
I was his precious treasure hidden behind curtains,
and the only one truly in the dark.
What was my father doing in that room?
I am overcome with an uneasiness deeper than fear,
for what else is he hiding?
The smoke seeps away to the balcony.
I see the truth and need not hear a word,
but keep a promise of silence
