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 

2 Responses to “From the Icebox inbox 6”

  1. Poignantly and beautifully expressed.

  2. 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!

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