A milk jug, handle turned in, was all it took for father to lather, a barrage of curses decrying our lack of worth, foaming from
Tag: father
The Art Of Survival
Learned the art of survival from father, a commando- trained warrior, never able to leave the battles behind A sharp-shooter, whose expert eye tracked our every
Weighted Down
Weighted down. I swallow rocks to anchor this restlessness – no exit available. Would love to re-locate, check self-assessment into a sunnier place – but
Debonair and Deprived
“Is that you father?” acquaintances would ask – voices deep and dreamy. Particular about his dress, meticulous in his grooming, Dad’s eyes sparkled oceans his
The Infamous Ice Storm
April, in Ontario, is as unpredictable as my father’s temperament – sometimes warm and encouraging, sometimes icily treacherous like that morning, in 1973, when coaxed
Seeking Home
My father’s kingdom his castle; I inherited his strife, witnessed years of control and submission felt used, undervalued, robbed; Was overinvolved responsibly, misunderstood the nature
