he was a like a peacock and came in the night preening his wild colors
taking me beneath a quilt , flesh like sand, it all scattered loose on cotton
the thick hand of time washed me clean by morning
I remembered my mother the way she cooked with wine running fleet between sink and stove, tipsy and laughing
now my father melancholy and drunk by a tv stirring blue images
the feathers of a man have dimmed some but I wonder how he could be so vain and love me
quiet on certain days
(can’t wait to go to bookstore to get that book, looks wonderful_)
11 months ago