2.17.2016 (9)

my dad washed

dishes bent over

the sink banging

away with tongue

at side of his lip

striking angrily.

he was doing it

for mom whose

raw cracked hands

bled as she

tore at them

and cried.

he never cried

that I saw or told

me that he loved

me but I never

heard him tell her

either.

he just smote at

the dishes, flailing

the soap scraps

we kept in a jar

for suds, staring

down.

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