Saturday, April 5, 2008

my father, on the eve of his birth, 57 years to the day

whiskey drunk, we stumble onto the dock and watch the sea crawl toward us on its belly, somehow whispering and screaming at the same time.  he speaks as though he is a forest burning down.  i am mostly silent.  he says "a birthday is just another day."  i think "i am glad you were born."