|
|
Mia |
|
|
|
 photo allposters.com Not You, My Father Most men lead lives of quiet desperationand go to the grave with the song still in them. —Thoreau My father was a man of stone who led a life of rock, one I could never enter Yet, he wanted to pound me into something softer than I already was—an oyster stuck to the roof of my mouth How I learned to live in a cave while my father grew boots stomped out fires and grunted with the back of a hand. My father who desired to farm, milk cows cradled their teats and flanks lovingly never touched me the same way, treated me as a tail, the sun’s shadow. Lack of subsidies, machinery and granary, he fed us to the cows. Broken bones of a man splinter in his children’s eyes—failure handed down, we reel to our ends. My father who fished in the sand, buried his dreams at the bottom of Gibraltar where no woman can wade into that hollow place—and yet, I shall sing still sing, a song of stone when his giant sinks. © Mia 2003. All rights reserved. |
|
|
|
Third Edition ~Editors: Mia, T. Birch, PJ Nights and Kathryn Koromilas ~ |
