By Len Kuntz, USA (Published in Issue 3)
Len started sending out work in May of '09 and since then has been really fortunate to place just under 300 pieces in various literary journals, mostly in the USA, but also in England, Japan, Australia and Halifax.
We take the photo in the same place each year,
by the grand fountain,
shortest to tall
as if there’s nothing else to mark the time
but our slacking skins
and a different set of sweaters.
We are his daughters.
We sang sweet notes and invented excuses for being women
instead of ladies.
Nights we fought in silence with locked doors
and shattered mirrors.
“No one got hurt,” we’d always say.
A lawyer, a lesbian, a surgeon and one hack.
The photographer prompts, “On three, say…Father!”
and we do
because Mom’s asked us,
because she’s standing there
remembering him again,
loving Dad like we should have.
We feel our way through dark clouds and cracks.
I remember you wanted to love me.
Those were full days,
When your Toyota backfired,
we bawled from laughter.
Now the western winds are spreading
and we are confused pedestrians,
weary from walking the same space,
treading foul air,
disobeying every road sign
on our way to ruin.