Fall 2023
I see now that motherhood is not required to speak a mother tongue.
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Water the boxed dirt, and up she’ll push, rising in red-streaked blossoms.
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There are parts of a man that are born again with each of his daughters.
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“Ki o tsukete!” she called, and he knew the words. Be careful.
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I am part dumb, and blind, and deaf, and untasting and unfeeling.
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Here's an affecting glimpse into a story of fatherhood.
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Husk was sturdy. He just breathed like it. Not like me. My lungs rattle.
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