Giving My Father Frights
We discover no end of windows
of opportunity for giving my father frights.
Our house is for hiding in.
We crouch in the porch, waiting for the bend of his shadow.
The frightening of him
happens in slow, simultaneous motion: we leap
and my father’s feet
explode from the floor
and like a man falling he roars –
of opportunity for giving my father frights.
Our house is for hiding in.
We crouch in the porch, waiting for the bend of his shadow.
The frightening of him
happens in slow, simultaneous motion: we leap
and my father’s feet
explode from the floor
and like a man falling he roars –
we nest in the pantry. He comes searching for tea
and finds us instead, flared eyes and limbs
springing at him, blowing chip packets and muesli into the air –
and finds us instead, flared eyes and limbs
springing at him, blowing chip packets and muesli into the air –
we fold into chests
we hang motionless in the long curtains
we hide in his suits, in the wardrobe
and once in the ceiling –
we hang motionless in the long curtains
we hide in his suits, in the wardrobe
and once in the ceiling –
dropping like spiders onto the bed
beside him, as he is sleeping. There is no sound
like my father’s roar, its fury and fear,
each time we burst out at him
like the living dead.
beside him, as he is sleeping. There is no sound
like my father’s roar, its fury and fear,
each time we burst out at him
like the living dead.
It is the sound of wishing
for a time when
a doorway was a welcome
the pantry unforthcoming
the wardrobe hung only with clothes:
all the empty suits, waiting.
for a time when
a doorway was a welcome
the pantry unforthcoming
the wardrobe hung only with clothes:
all the empty suits, waiting.
