A Short Prose Poem

Photo by Ansh Minchekar on Unsplash

I don't think my father was feeling like himself that day because although he wasn’t callous, he wasn’t especially affectionate; He was often the steel, wearied disciplinarian my mother weaponized. But that afternoon, as he stood in front of the billowing sheer blue curtains in the living room, I saw…

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Rachel K. Gause

Rachel K. Gause

If you surrendered to the air, you could ride it. ~Toni Morrison