Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2009

Father

by Charlotte Beard

 I knew a moment, a reunion.
 You lifted me onto your shoulders, happily
 carried my weight.
 The heaviness of memories, 
 of giant kites at the park, pulling your hand.
 I waited for your yellow-toothed smile, cigarette breath.
 You explained
 the morning star, evening star, Venus.
 Our kites created what I didn't know was Orion. 
 You moved quickly like the constellations, 
 a tangent from San Jose to Montana. 
 I wondered what was in Montana. 
 You throwing a Frisbee to a boy with curly hair, brown hair, 
 hair not like mine?
 Silence steals you and
 I still. 

Added: 25.03.2009

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