Villanelle

 

“You think you can walk right out?”
my father said. I did. I went
as far as I could from that house,

far from that town. I doubt
I could have traveled farther had I meant
to change my name, to walk right out

of the life I was born to, to applause
the world insists will make us confident
but never does. I trusted from that house

to this one, bridges burnt, the roads out,
even demons wouldn’t dare, but hell-bent
quests are circles: storm right out

a son hurt and rebellious
and in half a lifetime, in bewilderment,
you come home to your own house

and your sullen son without
the evidence to prove you’re innocent.
Some days I want to walk right out,
but can’t, won’t, must not leave this house.