Posts Tagged With: father

The book of the prodigal son’s daughter

and even after we go to meet our maker there’s an alley separating us
apparently in two rows of angels and saints
some with their head towards sunrise
the others towards sunset

it’s snowing
i dream of a world with less tooth for a tooth and eye for an eye
a world with bread for a bread and flower for a flower
with that cup of water my father asked for before dying
my old man who drank only beer or vodka or synthetic juices
until it stroke him through his head and heart
i did not come to your grave to thank you
the one who asked me for forgiveness five days before you passed away
the one who broke then in your fist that small porcelain doll
i was afraid off when i was a child
and you knew
i inherited your poverty but not your sins
do you remember when we used to play dice and canasta
we both had blind luck
and someone was shamelessly cheating

yesterday’s snow settled down over all graves
over all vows
in a land without prophets like any other land
only the wind breaks spells skimming father’s bible
that one with a mahogany leather cover
it does not matter in which direction lies your head dad
may your memory be forgiven

Categories: My Poems in 2015 | Tags: , , , , , , | 2 Comments

group photo with fishermen

it’s christmas dad
lend me once more your hand to compare ourselves
among the living people i ever touched
only your hand was bigger

if you want to we can go to the seashore hand in hand
to leap wave after wave together
or you can take me to the puppet theater
where the orange tiger swallows pancakes
while we’re clapping along with our big hands

this year i didn’t grow home bread and
i didn’t burn candles
i simply crouched with half-opened eyes
leaning against high cushions
over a cross scratched with my nails on the bed sheets
lying in wait
fishing like you dad
sometimes hours other times days
go by without any catch
apart from your pale and slippery smile
in the last photograph

why on earth didn’t you put aside the fishing rod

Categories: My poems in 2013 | Tags: , , | Leave a comment


when father was dead
in his large enough coffin
a pale blue ribbon tied his temples
otherwise he seemed asleep
the sky was clear but I did not look upwards
I searched in his black wallet
found an icon a few notes and figures
about building a road

father was a man of numbers and calculated windings
usually I refused to play chess with him
he said that it was his dream
I was locking myself in my room without keys
he was setting the chess table
always giving me the white pieces and many advantages
teaching me that corner towers can attack altogether
and that a good defense means to push forward
I was not listening everything was in vain
dice were funnier somehow
they seemed to roll easily beside my will

those days I believed that life was very serious
a kind of order where chess was a surfeit
boring tiresome futile effort for leisure time
I just liked that sound of pieces popping each other
when I gathered them at the end of the game
white bishops had a black head
black bishops had a white point

it was a hot day
silence melting words
my eyes wide opened looking through a lens
so cloudy so clear
father smiling in his coffin
his front clasped by a blue ribbon


Categories: My Poems in 2011 | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Create a free website or blog at