Monday, January 12, 2015

My father in bed

Infant bird my father lies, frail bones, lucent skin,
Hardly anything left of him.
What useless wings he has, I’m too polite to say.
When he opens his beak for food, I look away.
thought up by me, at
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1 comment:

  1. Unknown10:46 PM

    Oh, Penni. It is fifteen years now for me but I remember it so well and your description is perfect. That's what I thought too, the baby bird. xxx

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