mother’s mourning clothes
float lightly at night on hangers
like a flag, waving
words like ‘widow’, appear out of nowhere
’till death do us part’
and ‘our father in heaven”
such phrases, such gravity
unexpectedly, I think of my brother, still born
who may now be closer to father
and I think of grandfather,
who may now be closer to son
oh…and here comes the father’s day ads….
/information s t r e a m i n g /womb/IMGalbums
I had given my dad one of my blank sketchbooks because i knew he enjoyed sketching. After his death, I was looking around for it. I found it stacked together with another notepad and saw he had mysteriously drawn three planes and three birds and architecture. All other traces of his art are gone but i’m thankful i have these to remember him as an artist.( He had worked as a draftsman for SPH.) My blood for art comes from him and his ‘transformation’ would most likely alter the way I move forward in life as an artist. What exactly this means, I don’t know yet, but all choices made with regards to my own output or concept as an artist has obviously changed because one half of the beings who made me is now in some other state of being. death reinvents everything, always. Thank you dad, for this gift.