Tonight's Poet Corner: Family Matters
Family Matters by Belinda Roddie The chime of a text message, muffled by denim as I lean back against the bench. Train's late, again, but that doesn't matter; the destination is, as always, no man's land, and I'm not itching to get there on time. I've smoked four cigarettes before realizing that my brother has been trying to contact me. Tells me my father's dead - again. He's been clinically dead twice before, for about two to three hours both times. The ash from my stogies leaves mosaics on my fingers, and I call the hospital to check if they've revived him. No dice. He's dead for real this time. Fifty-six years old, and as dead as Lincoln and Roosevelt. As in brain hemorrhage, fountain of internal bleeding, cerebral supernova and gray matter explosion dead. The howl of a train whistle, unhindered by the fog that's thicker than the carcinogens I've pumped into my lungs, curdling my breath like sour milk. I take a wind