Academic journal article TriQuarterly

Dust

Academic journal article TriQuarterly

Dust

Article excerpt

Little boys, they sure do love their daddies, look up to their daddies, they want to walk like their daddies they want to talk like their daddies, too, they want to try their feet inside his shoes. Don't you know, they love to hear, someday you're gonna be big just like your daddy. Little boys, they love to fall into his big grin, love to be lifted in his hands, higher than the trees. And they love to watch him dance with Mama, to hold her safe and tight, to listen to him hum and strum guitar, singing songs to Mama, just like Johnny Cash, singing, flesh and blood needs flesh and blood, and you're the one I need, Like Jim Reeves or Hank Locklin's "Four Walls," out where the bright lights are glowing, you're drawn like a moth to a flame, you laugh while the wine's overflowing, while I sit and whisper your name. Little boys, they sure do love their daddies. The child was struck, at a tender age, with the dry mouth taste of his father's dust. The dust of lies, the dust of rage, the dust of wandering, the going away. The child was struck, gasping for air, parched and choking on the memory growing in his throat. …

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