Last Night My Father
Last night my father held me in my dreams
Which he never did in life.
A whole day might go by
Before he’d look up from his book.
Oh, hi, you’re here, he’d say.
Last night my father scraped me with his cheek.
I felt the large mole on his chin.
Should I brush my teeth he asked.
I shook my head against his ear,
My own breath sour with wine.
Last night we read the business page together
With his eyes: whole life insurance, pension plans,
Three line drawings: one a bridge; a diving board;
The third I can’t remember...
A dock maybe, but underwater, gone.
Last night my father’s arm began to fall asleep
Lying under mine, as mine did under
Him, uncomfortable until there
Was a shift, a twisting shoulder,
Then a shallow sigh, which woke me up.
About the Author
Jeanne Wilkinson is a writer and artist living in Brooklyn, NY. Her essays have been featured on WNYC’s 'Leonard Lopate Show' and NPR's 'Living on Earth,' in 'Lemon Theory Digital Magazine' and in Alternating Current's 'The Coil.' Her fiction has appeared in 'Columbia Journal' and 'Digging Through the Fat.' Adapted chapters from her memoir were published by 'Raven's Perch,' ‘Metafore Magazine” and 'New Millennium Writings' and will be included in the latter’s anthology. Her short experimental films have been screened at BAM and the Greenpoint and NYC Indie Film Festivals, and a video installation was recently shown at the 13th St. Repertory Theater.
From the Editor
Jeanne has a short story published with us! Make sure to check it out here.