The Time I Saw My Father Cry by Joshua Walker

It was quiet—
that hospital quiet,
clean but heavy,
like someone holding their breath
and refusing to let go.
My father sat
on the edge of a chair
like it might buckle
if he leaned too far
into grief.
The machines beeped,
but only the machines listened.
I never thought he had it in him.
Emotion, for him,
was an oil leak—
patch it fast, 

pretend it never happened.
But there it was.
One tear.
Slow.
Like it didn’t want to leave
but gravity said otherwise.
He didn’t wipe it.
Didn’t explain.
Just stared at my brother—
still breathing,
like his body hadn’t gotten the message.
That’s when I learned:
men don’t cry when it hurts.
They cry
when it can’t be fixed.

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Joshua Walker is a freelance poet and literary outsider based in Oklahoma City. Known online as The Last Bard, he writes raw, form-shifting work that bridges myth and modern struggle. His poetry appears in Potomac Review, Southern Florida Poetry Journal, Solarpunk Magazine, Libre, and more. He was awarded a Bridport Prize Bursary in 2025 and currently has over 310,000 followers across five platforms.