no proof exists

my dark father
was human though
no proof exists

his photographs
were torn in two
then four then eight
his face in the trash

the pieces slipping

near each other
becoming
whom I wanted him to be

my father never loved us but I loved him madly when I was three

riding his shoulders
grabbing his hands

seeing from above
how breakable
we really were
_________________________________________________________

Before Dusk, Autumn

The kites went up
into the late afternoon.
One of them, then the other.

I was locked in the car
while Dad and my cousin, Mamie
swirled the field.
Mamie, watching her shadow grow,
looked embarrassed.

I watched through the window-
The kites were leaves,
the wind picking them up,
grabbing them.

As shadows spread
Dad must have remembered
that I was his daughter,
that it was my birthday.
__________________________________________________________

Piggy Back

“Let’s go
for a piggy back ride!”
He
draped me
over him
like a sweater.

Shouldered safely
I let my hands
explore
his face
and found
two caterpillars.

He told me
to feel his chin,
how it was
like sandpaper.

Everything
was
BIG,
HAIRY,
TERRIBLE
(laughing high above his face).

Meg Pokrass lives in San Francisco. Her stories and poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in the following: Pindeldyboz, Smokelong Quarterly’s Fifth Anniversary Issue,Wigleaf, Elimae, Keyhole, Monkey Bicycle, Frigg,Wordriot, DOGZPLOT, 971 Menu,The Rose and Thorn,Thieves Jargon, Eclectica, Chanterelle’s Notebook, LitNImage, Tulip, Ghoti, Blossombones, and Literary Mama. Meg recently joined the editorial staff at SmokeLong Quarterly, and is a regular prompt/writing exercise contributor for SmokeLong News. Her blog, and links with updates to new work, can be found at: Meg Pokrass