This work of fiction is for and from Jason

I pray the Lord her soul to keep
I pray for miracle to make me weep

I know the facts
I know that she is dead my infant child
I know that I loved her before she died
But I can’t for the life of me say what that means

The missing limbs on my left side
Site of constant pain
The deaf ear site of constant ringing
Why can’t I feel the pain of her loss

I know the facts
I know that the father is supposed to grieve
I have a great vocabulary
I know what grief means
But I don’t feel it

I know what traumatic brain injury is
I know that it has taken away my feelings
Along with some of the words in my immense vocabulary
Most of which remain on the tip of my tongue

I know that I’m to blame
They tell me it wasn’t I who ran the red light
But maybe they’re just trying to make me feel better
I wish they’d make me feel worse
Why don’t they understand
I don’t feel either way

I feel no guilt
I know that I am guilty
I was the one who put her in the car
Nestled in the shell of plastic
I was the one along with my former beloved
Who brought her into a universe of death

I know that no Almighty God
Could have allowed this death or any death
Does God feel guilt
How about sharing

Don’t tell me about her immortal soul
Baby soul drooling and gibbering
Squawking like a pterodactyl

I am no father
I tell myself
Maybe a regrettable state of affairs
But lots of guys aren’t fathers

I sin in envy seeing others insane with rage
Envy is sin not feeling
I just want what others have
I want a suffering more than physical
I want a life in my plastic shell

How unseemly
How gauche
Is that the word
Gauche
How gauche then
An unfeeling father