the Sadness

I don't know how long it's been
since my father first got the Sadness.
So long ago, since stayed.
Since swayed in his hands
in the nod of his head
inside his bow-legged boots,
my father,
with the seal on his lips
and the bend in his frame, 
it's stayed.
Long enough that his pupils drop
like ink soaked in his irises,
sullen and blue, boy I would've liked to see
my father as a child
before the Sadness came
and overtook his brain,
sweet Dad. Daddy.
My father.

There's so much Sadness in this house.
Spare photographs resting
in otherwise empty drawers,
loose-leaf letters neatly stacked
from people who barely speak.
A tiny photograph of me with kid teeth
sitting alone in a photobooth,
a receipt.
I did everything I could to do right

Keep coming by,
hoping one day he'll learn to shake the Sadness
before it breaks him.
Sweet dad, Daddy.
My father