The Writers' Circle

Part of me wanted to leave that very night,
crash through the house with bags tumbling
down the stairs, 
and angry words in my mouth 
ready to spit at anyone who stood 
in my way.
But the poison pulsing through my head
was soothed when I saw your gentle touch.
Even though rage had turned my
eyeballs red
I watched you silently looking down, 
as she silently looked back,
and a silken invisible thread
connected father and daughter
like I never had.
So I stayed to ride out the storm,
cowering from the hail stones
and drenching in the rain, 
knowing it wouldn't last forever,
a small sacrifice,
until the sun comes out again.