NaPoWriMo Poem #28: Letter to My Father

Dear Dad: have you ever seen the
burning blade, the straight edge of a knife’s
tongue? From this, we are branded with bruises. This silence,
this tradition of disguise, is a generational curse,
a baton passed from Grandma to you to
me – and I am still running.
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Poem: Backwards (for RWP #119)

(for Jefferson Nicholson)

Backwards: how to walk it
is the question. It involves paper, microfilm, and
old stories. Names are Gospel,
passed from lips to ears. Footprints stay put when
written down.
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