I turn my head as a child, look back, see nothing.
When I turn forward again my face has been gouged,
there are splinters from the corners of my eyes,
my mouth is a mean line.
My eyes are pools;
their former blue submerged,
indistinct as dapples are in the shallows.
I turn my head as a child, look back, see nothing.
When I turn forward again I have my father’s face;
he is staring at nothing;
life has grown quiet inside him.
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