Step Father

He forgets that he used to call me mariconcito—
that I harbored years of hatred toward him
while hoping to find my real father. My
childhood memories of him reminding me
I was my mother’s son, not his. I tried
to poison him once and scattered sharp nails
inside the shoes in his closet. By the time one
of his sons died of AIDS, I was already lost
in contempt for the man I blamed for everything.
There was the time I was in love and he met my
boyfriends. Now he forgets to go to the bathroom
or where he is. I help him walk slowly
outdoors to step outside the prison cell that is
the tiny apartment with no windows in which
I grew up abused by both of them. He barely
understands. His fate has been torture. I know
that I cannot be his savior. I used to pray for
him to die but here he is slowly fading. In his
eyes I see that he learned to love me and wishes
he could take it all back. He is unable to recall
those drunken nights and hateful words. I should
do the same. I left a long time ago but he still
remains haunted by the little boy who wanted
to belong. Like him, I want to forget that we
made mistakes and caused so much pain. I need
for both of us to remember how he taught me
how to ride a bike and how to swim and told
me, better late than never, that he loved me and
was proud of all I had done. I have to help him
settle into his favorite chair and let him know that
I forgive him. There is a place somewhere where
he will call me hijo and I will know him as my dad.

Emanuel Xavier is author of several poetry books including Selected Poems of Emanuel Xavier and Love(ly) Child. His books have been finalists for International Latino Book Awards and Lambda Literary Awards and his work has appeared in Poetry, A Gathering of the Tribes, Best American Poetry, and elsewhere.