Father

Father would stare from his corner
Of space in time from an old trunk
That smelt iron and old moth-balls.
He looked like my own school self,
A bit lost in space, in shirt-sleeves
Tucked to elbow, not much in eyes.

He would stay  stuck in the corner
With no knowledge I was coming
With future that meant his going.
There was space only for one of us.
He stays wedged between old heads
Staring at old space unremittingly.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s