Father, my heart freezes
stiff as those chickens
when that slaughter truck overturned
in the blizzard of ‘78
and as I walked through the empty
snow world I kicked them,
feathers all over the road.
There is mother
in smoke and shame
hiding her face how the dead
know to do. Father,
her dark eyes hair skin all
a howl of rain.
m.nicole.r.wildhood’s work has appeared in The Atlantic, The Atticus Review, Five, xoJane and elsewhere. She seeks to be an advocate for those experiencing mental or emotional distress, currently writes for Seattle’s street newspaper Real Change and is at work on a novel and two full-length volumes of poetry. It’s Not Alzheimer’s In the dwindling visits, they said […]
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