Skip to main content

Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
Home
Contents
Biographies
Submissions
Archives
Editors
Contact Us
Publications
Policies

I Will Never Be My Father

 

 

But...
my scotch
rests on the rocks
by the second splash
I touch my lips
to check to see
if I am numb.

 

But...
the scrim
of a gray biblical beard
drapes over the
sacred parchment
of my scrotum.

 

But...

my hands
in painful spasms
suddenly clench
into fists
and I
try to pry myself
open.

 

But...
I kiss the New York Times,
every morning
and a hard twisted bagel
its seed
in my mouth...
I am alive.

  

But...
I am locked
on the land
and free
near to the sea.


He always seems
to be calling 
for me.

 

          —Doug Holder