A day of rest

Sunday is a day off.  Instead, there will be something from someone else:  A poem, a link, a quote, a post from a friend.  Anything I feel moved  to share.

Enjoy the day.

_____________________________

my father was not in the telephone book

in my city;

my father was not sleeping with my mother 

at home;

my father did not care if I studied the

piano;

my father did not care what I

did;

and I thought my father was handsome and I loved him and I wondered

why

he left me alone so much

so many years

in fact, but

my father

made me what I am

a lonely woman

without purpose, just as I was

a lonely child

without a father.  I walked with words, words, words, and names,

names.  Father was not

one of my words.

Father was not

one of my names.

-Diane Wakoski

from The Father of My Country