If you’re saying I’m so much like your father
you’re right. If you’re saying I was there
when the woman on the ship counted
her blessings—life, breath, white silk kimono—
then you’ve come to believe in the old world
of ghosts. If you believe I can break windows
with my body, if you believe I can choke
the strongest men by hiding in the last guzzle
of wood-stained beer, then you’ve got it right
and you know me. I was there with your father
under the bright light of interrogation:
Do you feel rage? asked the light. Do you feel terror?
Yes, he replied with eyes cast downward
so you can never see the whites of them,
his mouth full of silence and stones like me.