what’s the half of it?

i miss my dad taking care of me.
being held by him,
believing he was a superhero.
he has shrank in many ways these days.
his cape is an old blanket now,
and his only super power is suppressing
the desire to call me.

he raised me to take care of myself
and regrets the things he never could do for me-
like teach me to take care of him.
i wish i learned to, too.

i miss being taken care of by them
my mom and dad.
and being a kid, sleeping in their home,
eating their food,
hearing their fights,
and knowing the half of it.

i don’t know how i got here,
missing even the worst of it,
because it was at the very least
something