by gopikrishnan Kottoor
line-height:115%;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif""> ‘Daddy’, I said, ‘Stand by those shoe flowers,
line-height:115%;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif""> there are so many of them blooming this morning’.
Daddy took a step back.
There is a strange beauty, dad
in the hibiscus sheen, when, from the fresh green
the hundred shoe flowers mount red.
Daddy now looked like he was some God
coming to me in a dream of sacrifice.
He puffed hard at his cigarette,
its red butt putting all the hibiscus
buds to shame.
Looking on into the camera eye, he said, ‘Be
careful, son,
115%;font-family:"Times New Roman","serif""> of the sun in front of you. Don’t let
in too much light’.
I knelt down, so the lens could take the
shade,
holding him right.
Dad then smiled, as though the camera was
his laid woman.
And in that stained silence,
Time
built a riverside chapel around us.
Last updated May 28, 2012