Tonight's Poet Corner: Sonnet Solstice #387
His Raspy Voice
by Belinda Roddie
His raspy voice was due to all the smokes
he swallowed down like red hot candy, and
his narrow eyes were bright pink. As I choked
down fresh air outside, he opted to stand
just a foot away, cigarette between
his teeth, the ash descending on his shirt.
I wanted to pretend he wasn't mean,
or dirty, or uncouth. He wouldn't hurt
a fly, right? Still, his words did all the work,
and when I finally went home, I knew
that my soul had been fractured by the jerk,
the guy to whom my mom said, "I love you."
I called my real father ev'ry night;
his voice filled up the space like warm, clean light.
by Belinda Roddie
His raspy voice was due to all the smokes
he swallowed down like red hot candy, and
his narrow eyes were bright pink. As I choked
down fresh air outside, he opted to stand
just a foot away, cigarette between
his teeth, the ash descending on his shirt.
I wanted to pretend he wasn't mean,
or dirty, or uncouth. He wouldn't hurt
a fly, right? Still, his words did all the work,
and when I finally went home, I knew
that my soul had been fractured by the jerk,
the guy to whom my mom said, "I love you."
I called my real father ev'ry night;
his voice filled up the space like warm, clean light.
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