i have this new title swirling around in my head [may be inappropriate, but] feels right

i have this story that's trying to write itself in my head

i am almost afraid to write it though

it's about going to see my dad
several years ago now
some stuff i never told you

and
really
i don't think the whole thing can be about that
i think it just has to start that way
but
it's disturbing to me
so i both really want
and really don't want to write it

which means, maybe
that it has the potential to be good

the title that wants to stick
but only if it's a longer work:

half kaddish for rain

and it starts
[i only like to write in poem-y format]:


it wasn't the first thing he asked me
there were greetings
there was small talk
my mother had had her [artificial] christmas tree up all year
i had seen her the day before
he and i both looked at the wreath, unadorned
the one concession to the season
just a mild indication, really
that any sort of life
still existed anywhere

and when i woke the next morning
he was painting watercolor ornaments
cutting them out
hanging them
on the wreath

now
he said
now we're ready for next year

no no no
my brother said
scattering the effort
and bursting the bubble of the moment

maybe it was after that
or maybe
maybe it was the first possible moment
on the first day
i can't remember
so as i recount it
i place it after this first touch

he asked me
and i had answered
before i knew i heard the question right

can i brush your hair
yeah okay i said aloud
but
really
it felt more like:

dear god yes, please

and that
was when
the whole thing
started to fall sideways