pictures from before i was born, before papa got sick
he looked like a fine young soldier, even though he wasn’t ever sent to war
he’s with his wife, a friend, a baby, sitting on the stern of a boat
dancing at his daughter’s wedding, white tux, black bow tie

stout face, taut cheeks, sharp smile—i can see his daughter
there’s a few where she’s trying hard to look like him
to look at him, to get him to look at her, to get him to see
a few where i think she’s human

there’s his irises, the old house on dewey ave where nana died
there’s one where he’s shaping gnocchi’s, two hundred at least, all by hand
he called me once at seven am on a saturday to bulk bake
peanut butter pies, months before the microwave burnt the house down

there’s a few right when he got sick: dress, cigarette, head down
eyes down cheeks starting to cave down on his smile
anyone can see she’s his daughter


8 thoughts on “irises

  1. Reblogged this on whatareyourwords and commented:

    I wrote this a few months back after my aunts gave me lots of old family photos. Thinking about those who cam before me.. I’m often asked why my characters act the way they do, what’s their motivation. It’s simple. Attention. We all need love, and if we can’t get it we’ll settle for hate. Hate’s still an emotion, at least it lets us know we exist to another–even if it’s as the embodiment of their regret. As another blogger’s name suggests: Send Love!


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