Group photo with fishermen

a poem about my dad, who left this world eight years ago

it’s christmas dad

lend me once more your hand to compare ourselves

among the living people i ever touched

only your hand was bigger

 

if you want to we can go to the seashore hand in hand

to leap wave after wave together

or you can take me to the puppet theater

where the orange tiger swallows pancakes

while we’re clapping along with our big hands

 

this year i didn’t grow home bread and

i didn’t burn candles

i simply crouched with half-opened eyes

leaning against high cushions

over a cross scratched with my nails on the bed sheets

lying in wait

fishing like you dad

sometimes hours other times days

go by without any catch

apart from your pale and slippery smile

in the last photograph

 

dad

why on earth didn’t you put aside the fishing rod

Reviews

[Chris]

Moving and thought-full. Good tones.

[Cristina Moldoveanu]

Thank you very much, it is quite personal and these ones about lost ones seem to fit me better.

[Emily B]

the power of simple words, always, always, astonishes me

[Cristina Moldoveanu]

Thank you very much Emily for your kindness