Monday, October 10, 2016

Father and I by Rachel Caruso-Bryant

You’re brown, baked by the Texas kiln, firmly lined and chiseled
Wearing a red plaid shirt, unbuttoned, with sun washed jeans,
On the couch, passed out after a long day bleeding oil on the fields.
I’m smooth-skinned, pale, and blonde as an ear of white corn,
Wearing white Hanes underpants, topless, chest down
On top of you, mouth open, drooling, deep in memory making sleep.

Rachel Caruso-Bryant is originally from Florida and is now an English language lecturer at a university in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. She lives with her husband and three cats and travels the world whenever she gets the chance. Her poems have appeared in A Lonely Riot and the Stark Poetry Journal.

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