He takes his pencil
and started light strokes
briefly pausing to correct
misalignment
for he loves symmetry
even as a kid
dad raised a hand
to his face
when he looked out
the window to
see kids enjoying
their delinquency
he finished with dad's
last name
now he still writes—
still making errors
and tries
to correct it
he writes because
of your name
now, you see
he wishes
dad to strike him
but the dead don't
slap no more
YOU ARE READING
Albeit flawed,
Thơ caI was basking under the sun-the waves muffle the sound of my breathing; and I bury myself with cautionary confidence in the sand and with it the memory of your four faces. How can something lethal be life-restorative?
