THE FATHER

by Kevin McAuley
 

When father died
We fed him to the autumn moon.
 

I was on a train heading north
Past woods running like wild dogs
Through snowfields of sleeping brides.
 

When I arrived at her house
She was drawing pictures of the leaves.
She drew them to look like old men
Whose flesh was so thin
The sun had scorched their bones.
 

When I told her about the father
We could hear the wind    outside
Swirling around the door.
We could hear the leaves
Which we had taken for dead
Crawling on top of the house. 
 

Poem copyright 1994 by Kevin McAuley

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