I asked my father to walk me down the aisle
the second time.
Instead he wrote a letter.

I imagined him in a room.
I imagined him with a clean legal pad in front of him.
I imagined him, drink in hand
as he
formed the words,
the perfect words,

to hurl at me
like stones
that stung as they pounded against my heart,
leaving it bruised and
gouged and
beyond repair

It was easier I suppose to put in five pages his true sentiment.

Easier than to
Just Say NO.