From the Icebox inbox 6
(by Philippa Yaa de Villiers)
In the heat of the midday sun I stopped the rush, stepped out of the flow, to compose a letter to my father. It started with pleasantries, moving swiftly to blame and doubled back to self-pity. I don’t want to lose him. But I have never had him; he is more than the genes that made me, but his image is faded. This makes no sense: we have no memories together. No washes to wring the colour out, to sieve the smells, no endless meals around an immovable table. I have no claim on him, nor him on me, yet I crave his stake driven into my forbidden terrain.
The distant father
waves from a mountain, hidden
by my crying hands
May 21, 2009 at 2:35 am
Poignantly and beautifully expressed.
May 25, 2009 at 6:39 pm
It’s certainly full of beauty, and thank you for it. Unsure of the implications of the stake. This is certainly a haibun, yet is the poem a haiku, I wonder? An interesting paradox worthy of others’ comments. Fingers crossed for them!