|The 2River View||20.4 (Summer 2016)|
Father, you said,
I have watched the sun wash the windows while I waited for you. I pried the claws off of lobsters, the crackled red shellac sounded like bullets, and I did not move. There is such a fine line between fear and pride. The light from the kitchen, a caution tape on linoleum tile. I tossed the remains to the trash and treasured the meat, the tender pulp, like cloth between my fingers. How long have I waited?
In your absence I have become a predator,
Here, a blade. There, a hand.
father, I have waited for you.
I have pressed my ear, soft and hirsute, to dirt to listen to the thunder of your footsteps from a distance. I have become a carbon creature, a testament to life like all of the others. I have excommunicated the bees because they know nothing of loneliness. My scabs have blossomed into roses on my knees so that I am pretty while I kneel.
father, you do not support these illegitimate dreams. Cast off your prosthetic love.
|Copyright 2River. Please do not use or reproduce without permission.|