Tag Archives: fathers
I hold my hand out into the drought. We should be friends please ask me a question. Are you the only one do you think, who is alone – separated from star and sun bright-eyed, dark-boned feeling a bit feeble … Continue reading
In my silent back yard there’s an arrow in a tree that my son left for me to think upon now that he’s gone. What can be done about the disappearing of the thread of the blood that opens a … Continue reading
When I was growing up young as a cub scout as gullible as a garden my father told me to work the ending out starting at the beginning step by step weed each long row steady as summer sun. Sprouting … Continue reading
[for my father] A man is flexible although not to the eye. A man does nothing but try and try to find a bridge to cross the muddy and meandering river of generations. We must be strong, we think when … Continue reading
One man wears a suit ear stuck toothy cartoonish brute in a phone. One man in bare feet toes free bowed back and head covered planting seeds. One man that you did not see plasters the walls of his family … Continue reading
Patiently hidden in a list – one of his many sons like a shiny nickel in a pocketful of change at the winding down phase of a rich life, one I tried to follow. I talk with my father regularly … Continue reading
My father said or rather wrote about his father that he was cold made up work rather than talk whatever I may think he was hard-working always writing he was not his father. Me neither.