Sunday, June 17, 2018
The Loss - Father's Day in France
Five years ago, my father passed away. A year after, The Loss was published through Flutter Press.
Time to promote this book again on this special day. Order it here.
first published in Deep Water Literary Journal
They were grey, marine blue or brown,
you wore them everyday, synthetic fibre fabric,
always sliding from cloaks, soft and thin Terylene trousers.
The feel of them against my seven-year old cheek
when you came back from work and I became
like a foundling, some orphan in need of mercy.
The night went on, the rush towards some sleep,
I loved to slip in it but prior to the large dark hole
I spent some time lying on the sofa watching some film
from another era, a time when you and she
were cuddling, exploring each other's life,
accepting one another breath and mood.
Yours were thick and smelly, hers never as round as they seem;
both made me recoil anyway – a fright for the gremlin –
except when you came back from work
smelling vapours from the kitchen or when
you had burned twigs and weeds in the garden
and the smell of smoke lingered on your clothes.
My head on your thigh, your hand repeatedly
but gently brushing my blonde, straight, hair,
until my eyes closed and you seemed to be
ready to take me upstairs to my bed, she made
with cotton sheets and feather-full cushions
soothing my weariness, comforting my dismay.