I think of my father
\n‘s breath trailing from his lips
\nbacklit by the cool November sun<\/p>\n
His cheeks are ruddy
\nand his eyes teared
\nby the hard northern wind<\/p>\n
His neat row of medals
\nis pinned to the twill
\nof the tough black winter coat
\nits collar up against his
\nclean shaven jowels<\/p>\n
He still had some Brasso
\nthat he had used to burnish
\nthose medals that he would
\nnot speak of<\/p>\n
His lips purse against the cold<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I think of my father ‘s breath trailing from his lips backlit by the cool November sun His cheeks are ruddy and his eyes teared by the hard northern wind His neat row of medals is pinned to the twill … Continue reading