Untitled#5, For My Father Poem by Karen Touzalin
Untitled#5, For My Father
My father,
an eloquent man, chased his inner demons with the spirits
of Appleton Estates.
His words could glide like sweet molasses
or sting like vinegar in an open wound.
At nights, I listened to childhood stories at his feet
spellbound by the sound of his voice
In my reverie, I caught fleeting glimpses
of a boy running though canefields with carefree abandon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 6:24:42 AM # 1.0.0.1119
