parturient as the spring.

 

 

 

Father.

                   The further I get from your passing

 

the less I can recall your gesture with cigarette

 

                   battling your middle finger from an old

 

                   war.

 

 

That good laugh passeul on a given liquid;

 

blossom inflorescence. You hid liquor bottles

 

under seat cushions in the den but I saw you put them there

 

and yes, thrice I fell out of the light,

 

                   like the business end of a float

 

                   where the floculent particles of soft

 

                   ribbon blew off with the wind

 

                   right past me and my sister

 

bright as that dark, particulate  patch

 

of the sun.

Reviews

This is utterly beautiful my Dana.
My paps, smoked a sigar, when I graduate,
While he don't smoke.... actually

I feel you in all you say those little things, are to keep into our cores... forever.

E.L.

[Tree]

It's always the little things we remember, most. It is why some us write, why I write. To never forget. A stirring poem, dana