Father was crystal,
clear glass and cold,
colorless,
aglaze,
with frozen icicle hands,
and see-through eyes, a parent
transparent as crisp blue sky,
full of laughter
and joy.
He hid everything else.
Froze it,
shoved it
to the back of a shelf,
buried deep
in an icebox,
where he
kept it
along with his heart.
It beat only for you.
And yet, perhaps,
it beat for the rest of us too.
Clear beats,
s l o w b e a t s,
each drip of his glacier
thawing us through.
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.21 seconds at 4:20am on Oct 30, 2024 via server web2.