Father

I
My mother asked me,
not to smile.
For, it betrayed him.
His full length smile and
childlike face.


Primordial father he.
Finger prints behind the curtains.
Marbles hid in school uniform skirt blues.
Memories dear and dusted.
My father.


Upon whom
father,
supposed
domestic
dishonored,
called me
a bastard.


II
Thus wrote she,
years before.
As/for me.
Now glued.
on to her darkness,
within.
A tiny peck
yet to be confirmed.


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